Amity One-Shots
by WolfKael
Summary: Series of One-shots, random ideas for the DP universe. Enjoy. Not related to the J.O.S. continuum. Well..okay, some of them are, but not all. I do not own the DP verse, because I am not Butch Hartman.
1. Meeting in High School

**A/N: So, I'm making a series of one-shots! …well, some of them might end up with some follow-up chapters, but not necessarily immediately afterward. This is me…getting rid of ideas in my head.**

**So, One Shot #1: Meeting in High School**

**It's an AU fic. I've already established in the J.O.S. continuum that Phantom WOULD NOT exist without Sam, but this is a "What if he did, and what if Sam transferred in during high-school?" I like showing how other students might view Danny. He and Tuck are a little different than my usual interpretations of them, but…oh well. I don't think they're TOO OOC. Maybe. Oh well. Anyway, I'll occasionally update this with random thoughts and concepts. Not all of them may be this long, though…**

**I'm thinking I'll do a small series of one-shots in here where I tell the story of how some of our favorite ghosts died. Not Ghost Writer, though, because you'll learn his story in Crown of Fire.**

Her reflection stares from her foggy mirror, and she rubs anxiously at her shoulder-length, black hair with a towel. Her eyes dart to her clock – it's eight-fifteen. She'll have to take her car today, having missed the bus.

"I don't know why you take the bus, Sammy," her mom clicks in the kitchen about five minutes later, "especially after we got you such a nice car…"

"I'd rather save my gas money," she dismisses, shoving some cereal down her throat, "See you."

She jogs out to her garage and climbs into the BMW, plugging her iPod into the dashboard. Metal blares from her speakers. She quickly double-checks her dark purple lipstick and matching eye-shadow in the mirror.

"First day," she growls, "First day in a new school, and I miss the bus."

Her family has just moved to Amity Park, rumored to be the most haunted city in the U.S., if not the world. She had just started her Junior year of high-school when her father was transferred. His wife and daughter followed him at the end of the first term. She's only lived in Amity for three days.

_"__Turn right at First and Main,"_ her GPS drones.

"Thanks, Bridget," she snorts, snapping her indicator on.

She pulls into the parking lot of Casper High with five minutes to spare. She leaps from her seat, hauling her backpack over one shoulder. She locks her car as she strides away. It beeps in confirmation.

She pulls a map she'd gotten yesterday, when she registered, from a pocket, followed by her schedule.

"Room four-eighteen…" she mutters, her finger tracing across the map until she finds the three small numbers on a tiny classroom.

A tiny classroom on the other side of the school.

She curses and walks as quickly as she dares without 'running.' She doesn't need to get into trouble on her first day.

The hallway is completely empty as the first bell rings, and she picks up her pace a little. Something catches her attention – movement in her peripheral vision. She turns her gaze in its direction.

A boy – probably a fellow Junior – leans against a wall, his fingers massaging his temples. He's tall, but _very_ thin. His blue eyes are ringed by dark shadows – one of them is black. His white, long-sleeved t-shirt is rumpled, and his knuckles are red, and he's in the process of wrapping them with a bandage. There's a small split in his lip that looks fresh. His gaze captures hers and she freezes in place, her breath rushing out in a long breath.

She can't look away. Her heartbeat is thudding in her ears.

_You need to get to class, Sam,_ she screams in her mind, _go. Hurry._

_But don't turn your back on him_, her subconscious adds.

Finally, his lip curls into a grimace, and he vanishes into the boys' restrooms beside him in the blink of an eye.

She inhales deeply, rushing again towards her classroom. She knocks tentatively on the locked door, which is answered by a confused teacher. His eyes sweep her quickly, and she can already feel his opinion forming.

Black hair, purple highlights, dark lipstick, black t-shirt with a metal band's insignia on the front, tight black jeans, studded metal-tipped boots. A piercing through her eyebrow, and a few more on her ears.

_It's probably a good thing he can't see the tattoo on my shoulder,_ she muses dully, picturing the art on her right shoulder-blade. A skull rests in the middle of a web ensnared by thorny roses. Her parents had been mortified upon discovering the ink, and furious with Grandma Manson for providing consent.

"And you are…?" he asks.

"I'm Samantha Manson," she answers, "I just transferred, so I might not be on your attendance sheet yet."

"Your schedule?" he extends a hand, and she places the sheet in his grasp. He scans the file, noticing the official watermark in the paper, and nods, "There's an empty desk over there," he gestures to a corner of the room.

She drops her bag on one of two desks in the back corner.

"Other one, Ms. Manson," he corrects, and she obeys, puzzled.

"What does it matter?" someone snorts, "Fenton may not show up anyway."

"Like, how has he _not_ been suspended by now?" a blond girl comments.

"That's enough," he frowns, "On with the lesson. Let me know if you need any help, Ms. Manson. I stick around for tutoring an hour after school. I'm not sure where your previous school was in comparison…"

"I'll be fine. Thanks," she pulls a notebook from her bag as he clicks the slideshow forward.

"Hey, Foley," someone hisses, catching the attention of another kid, in front of the other empty seat. His pencil hesitates, but he otherwise ignores them.

"I hear you take notes for Danny," the blond boy continues. He wears a letterman jacket – of course.

Blue-green eyes glare over lenses. Sam feels something similar to that moment in the hallway, though not as intense. The jock doesn't seem to notice.

"Think I can have some too? You're pretty smart, aren't you?"

"And why should I, Dash?" he whispers evenly, "You shoved Danny into a locker this morning. You _do_ realize he's getting too tall for that, right?"

"Eh," he shrugs, "Fenton's skinny. He fits fine, if you just fold him in two."

She bites her cheek, trying to focus on the lesson. Thankfully, she notes, luck is finally on her side. Her previous school was probably a few lessons ahead, so she doesn't need to take new notes.

Foley's dark hand tightens around his pencil, "Forget it, Dash. If I were you, I'd leave Danny alone for the rest of today. I'm not sure if he'll put up with it like usual."

"What's he going to do?" he snorts back, "Cry? Yell at me?"

Foley sighs and shakes his head, adjusting his red beret. He mutters something under his breath, sounding a little bit like 'you wish', but she can't tell for sure.

Ten minutes before the end of class, another knock appears at the door. The teacher sighs, and Foley leaps to open it.

"Thanks, Tuck," someone mutters.

Her eyes snap up, and once again, her breath is torn away. The boy from earlier drops his purple backpack heavily beside the empty seat. There's something wrong, however, and it takes her a few moments to place it.

His black eye is gone. The split in his lip is now a faint, white scar. His knuckles are no longer red, but there are faint signs of scarring. His ice-blue eyes scan her quickly, and he turns them to a notebook handed back to him by his best friend.

"I'll explain anything you don't understand later," Tucker whispers.

"Yeah. Thanks," he locks eyes with her again, noticing that she's listening in. She feels her cheeks flush pink, realizing she's been caught, and she turns her eyes back to her blank notepaper.

The two whisper in another language. The accent reminds her of French, but she's been taking it for years and doesn't recognize anything.

The rest of the class concludes without incident, and she makes her way to the door.

"So…your name is Samantha, right? Samantha Manson?" the blond jock – Dash – leans against the doorway.

"Yeah," she retorts, trying to duck beneath his arm.

"I'm Dash Baxter," he smiles, lowering his arm to block her path, "I'm the star athlete here at Casper High."

"Best quarterback in years," someone adds. She tries to recall his name from when he was called on earlier…Kwan?

"Cool," she deadpans, watching the smooth pride fall from his face.

"Move it," someone growls behind them, "She just moved here, Dash, you'll have plenty of time to flirt with her."

She tenses, recognizing the voice.

"Whoa, look at Fen-toad," Dash sneers, "feeling particularly tough today?"

"No, just pissed off and eager to get to a class _on time_," he snorts, pushing past Sam.

"Oh, what's got your panties in a twist today, Fen-toenail?" Dash pushes, continuing to block the doorway. Sam glances back at the teacher, who ignores the two with a small shake of his head.

"A blond idiot whose only value is his ability to throw a ball," the black-haired, icy-eyed boy replies flatly, earning gasps around the classroom, "I'm not in the mood today, Dash."

"Oh, Foley was right!" Dash gasps mockingly, "Fenton's really _not_ happy today!"

"Can't blame him, with parents like _that_," Kwan continues.

She can see Danny's jaw clench, and his hand tightens into a fist, "We're all going to be late to class, Dash," he presses tightly.

"Yeah," the jock sighs, remaining at his post.

Danny sighs, trying to push past. However, Dash places his hand on the thinner boy's chest and shoves him back.

In an instant, the jock yelps in pain as his arm is twisted away, levering him against a desk. Danny keeps a firm grip on the athlete's wrist and glares down.

"I _said_, I'm not in the mood, Baxter," he growls, letting him go and rushing out the door. Foley follows behind. Dash rubs his wrist, moving it gently in circles.

"When did Fenton learn how to do _that_?" Kwan asks.

"His mom's a black belt," Dash shrugs, hiding the waver in his voice, "of course he picked up on _something_."

She rushes out into the hallway before he gets up again, and looks at the next room on her schedule…which is, yet again on the other side of the campus.

Then again, isn't it always?

-BREAK-

Lunch, _finally_.

She pulls her lunch from her bag – unsure if Amity would have a ultra-recyclo-vegetarian option – and searches for a table to sit at. All other tables are packed, except one.

Danny Fenton and Tucker Foley sit at the very end of the table. She glances around again and makes for the empty seats resignedly.

"Hey," someone takes her shoulder.

"Hi," she replies, her eyes focusing on the girl's yellow headband.

"I'm Valerie Gray," she smiles, "You're the new girl, Samantha Manson, right?"

"Yeah," she answers, uncomfortable. Of _course_ they know her name.

"There's an empty seat by me," she offers, "You know…so you don't have to sit…" her eyes flick to the two boys. Danny eats his food quickly, his plate almost cleared, as though he doesn't have more than thirty minutes to eat. Tucker plays with an old-fashioned PDA.

"Thanks," Sam smiles lightly, allowing herself to be led to another table.

"Fenton's admittedly kind-of cute," someone muses, "he has a bit of the bad-boy vibe sometimes, you know?"

"I think he looks like death warmed-over," her friend retorts.

"I don't think 'warm' is the right word for him," a third snorts, "My hand brushed his one day, and it was like, ice-cold."

"Yeah," the second nods, "he's kind of creepy. You ever get that feeling that he's looking right through you? Like…like he knows what you're thinking?"

"Girls," the first raises her hands, "We're talking appearance _only_. The messy black hair, the light, cold blue eyes…"

"Yeah," the third muses, "I can see it. Especially if he bulked up a little…he's so skinny. Failing gym."

"If he got some more sleep," the second adds, "…yeah. I'd say he's _potentially_ hot, if you go by looks alone."

"Now…" the first smiles, turning her gaze on Valerie, "Foley's not creepy. An antisocial geek, yeah, but not creepy. What do you think, Val?"

"Why are you asking me?" she retorts.

Sam chews her food mechanically, watching as Danny lays his head on his arms, as though trying to sleep. The girls continue through a list of who she presumes are the local boys, most of them swooning at the mention of Dash.

Speaking of Dash, she's pretending not to notice him making eyes at her across the room. _It's not like you're actually attracted to me,_ she snorts, taking a bite of her tofu sandwich, _I'm just fresh meat. Your next conquest._

-BREAK-

The rest of the week sailed by quickly, and she found herself watching Danny Fenton. He would randomly leave in the middle of class, only to return later. Sometimes it was before the end of class – other times, he never made it back to school. Occasionally, Tucker would vanish with him.

Before the end of the week, she'd found a place to sit by herself, a quiet place in a nearby stairwell. Valerie wasn't bad, but listening to the other girls drove her crazy. They had nearly the _same conversation_ _every day_.

She would read a gothic novel while she ate. Back to the way her life was in New York. It was in that stairwell that she saw her first ghost fight.

-BREAK-

She takes a bit of an apple, and the ground shakes beneath her feet. Green flashes in her peripheral vision. An alarm begins to blare.

_"__Ghosts on premises. All students, please move away from windows, and retreat to the gym or cafeteria,"_ the vice-principal, a strict teacher named William Lancer, drones into the P.A.

She remains rooted to the spot.

There are two ghosts. One is metallic, with a flaming Mohawk. The other, she recognizes from the internet.

His messy white hair glows in the afternoon sun. His green eyes burn like acid, and his mouth is turned upward in a confident smirk. His entire body is encased in a soft glow.

Phantom.

The two seem engaged in a conversation. An ectoplasmic glow encases Phantom's hand, and missiles sprout from the other ghost's shoulders.

"You should get to somewhere safe," someone pants behind her, startling her into action.

Tucker Foley grins from above her on the stairs.

"What about you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I can handle myself," he replies simply, "At least move up here, further away from the windows. They're almost always the first things gone when things get serious."

"…are they serious?" she motions out the window.

"I don't know," he tilts his head, "Phantom looks like he's in a decent mood today. Then again, when _isn't_ it nice to whoop Skulker's metallic behind?"

"So Skulker's the robot?"

"Yeah," he smiles, "That's right, you're new to Amity Park. Is this your first ghost fight?"

She nods.

"Congrats on popping that cherry," he snorts, "I wonder which side you'll choose?"

"…side?" she presses, taking his advice and moving a little further up the stairs.

"Half the town screams and pitches fits about the fights," he answers, "The other half watch it as rabidly as football. Jerseys and everything. There's actually a time-slot for it."

"They happen _that_ regularly?" she whispers.

"Yeah. If they get desperate, they do some reruns," he shrugs, "Sometimes they manage to find some _really_ old, grungy footage from people's cell phones and clip it all together. Multiple angles, you know?"

"And Phantom's in all of them?"

"No," he laughs, "Almost, but some of them have the Red Huntress. You've heard of her?"

"Yeah," she nods, "The girl with the red suit and the sled?"

"Yep," he agrees, playing on his PDA.

"I've noticed…" she begins, "You're always playing with that thing."

"Her name is Shannon," he sniffs, "She's not a 'thing.'"

"That sounds even worse," she laughs.

"Yeah, it does," he grins, "That's the point."

The end of his long sleeves scrunch back a little, unnoticed by the technogeek. Sam's eyes trace the beginnings of thin scars on his arm. If she squints, she can see another one tracing across his neck, and another on his forehead.

_Like Danny,_ she realizes, _whatever he's involved in, Foley's with him._

There are more explosions, and one of the outdoor tables is obliterated, but the ghosts soon disappear, pulling their fight elsewhere. Tucker's eyes flick up from his PDA before he rises to his feet.

"We have Physics together, don't we?" he inquires, "Come on. Let's drop your tray and go."

Her eyes narrow, "You're being awfully friendly."

"You seem cool," he replies simply, "I mean, besides your freaky diet. Meat all the way."

Her nose wrinkles.

"Besides, Dash's been bothering you, right? If I'm there, he'll probably leave you alone and come after me."

"My hero," she deadpans.

"I've known Danny for, like…_ever_. He's rubbed off on me," they begin down the hallway towards the cafeteria.

"What does _that_ have to do with Danny?" she inquires incredulously.

"Fenton keeps Dash's attention," a passing 'nerd' replies, having overheard as he passed by, "and keeps him away from us."

"The A-List and faculty all think he's a delinquent, but everyone on the lower half of the totem-pole knows better," Tucker clarifies, "They all turn a blind eye to Dash's antics. Can't have the star quarterback suspended or put in detention, can we?"

"Hey, Tuck," one with curly hair raises a hand. His voice is a whisper, and his eyes dart around, searching for the A-List, "Is Danny okay? Dash really whaled on him today."

"He's fine, Lester," Tucker assuages.

"I could _swear_ I heard something crack," he rambles, "You sure he didn't break a rib?"

"He's fine," he repeats firmly, "Danny riles him up because he can take it."

"He shouldn't have to," Sam frowns.

Lester stares down at his shoes, "As awful as it sounds, I'm glad he does," he squeaks, rushing away before she can reply.

"…Lester tried to commit suicide Freshman year," Tucker whispers quietly, watching him leave, "Danny spent three hours in the bathroom talking him out of it. Before then, Danny did what we all did – ducked his head and tried to glide under the radar. But seeing Lester in a bathroom stall, with a razorblade at his wrist…that day, Danny became a sacrifice. He placed himself on the altar and bared his throat. It's how he is," a small smile rises, "instant hero, just add distress. He'll sacrifice his entire future for the sake of someone else's."

-BREAK-

The ghost siren goes off again, several days later. She's outside when it does, and begins to jog for the gym, where a ghost-shield has been raised. However, she can see a ghost with long, blue, flaming hair pacing around the outside. It begins to turn towards her…

She's yanked back, against a firm chest. An ice-cold hand is clapped over her mouth. She begins to struggle.

"Shh…" someone whispers in her ear, "Do you want her to find you?"

She stills, and his grips loosens. She looks up, her heart thudding in her ears, and locks eyes with Danny Fenton.

"You're Sam, right?" he asks, "Sorry," he hastily corrects, seeing her stunned expression, "Samantha. Sorry."

"No," she shakes her head, "I prefer being called Sam. It's totally okay."

"Hey, Dipstick, where are you?" the ghost shouts, plucking absently at her guitar, "I need to get some payback for my boyfriend!"

Danny's eyes flit between Sam and the ghost, and he beckons for the Goth to follow behind. They slip into the football team's storage shed, and he pulls something from behind the shelf.

Her eyes widen, locking onto the array of ghost tech filling the pack in front of her. Danny pulls one from the bottom and clicks a button. A small, green shield falls over the both of them, "That should keep you safe for long enough," he nods.

"So they have things like this scattered around the school?" she whispers, brushing her fingers through the pack.

Danny smiles sheepishly, "No, Tuck and I did this. We have them hidden all over town. Under bridges, behind a loose brick in the park, the air vents of the Nasty Burger…you never know when you might need something, and my mom just assumes that my dad lost something if anything goes missing. I'm not exactly short on ghost-tech," he finishes dryly.

"I've heard," she smirks.

"Yeah…" he rubs at the back of his neck, "look…Sam…I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression last week. I…I wasn't having a good day, and I wasn't expecting to see anyone in the hallway…especially someone I didn't know."

She blinks, remembering the intense encounter in the hallway, "It…It's fine," she stammers.

"Cool," he smiles, sweeping her breath away in a sweep of sunlight.

A loud riff shrieks into the air, and Danny winces, "That shield won't last forever. Take this," he tosses her an earbud, "I'll lead Ember away. Once I give you the sign, I want you to run for the gym."

"You don't need to go," she frowns, "Phantom will show up and take care of it, right?"

An odd expression crosses his face for a moment, but it vanishes before she can identify it, "Maybe, maybe not," he shrugs, "For all we know, he could be tied up with another fight on the other side of town. I'll be fine," he snatches two things from the bag, a small ray-gun and what looks like a soup thermos, "It's not my first party, Sam," he grins, and winks conspiratorially, "But don't tell anyone that. Except Tuck. Tuck knows. Remember, on my signal," he motions to put the earbud in place before vanishing through the door.

"Hey, Ember!" he shouts, "Are you sure you should be dating a guy who has to send his girlfriend out like a hunting dog after getting his ectoplasmic tail-end handed to him?" Sam manages to make out.

She watches through the window as Danny artfully dodges a pink energy fist and fires his weapon. He continues to move slowly backward, luring the songstress into the nearby woods.

_Wait…_Sam wonders as she watches, _didn't those dimwits with Valerie say he was failing gym?_ She remembers feeling tight muscle behind her only a few minutes earlier, _that…that's not possible._

The radio in her ear clicks, _"Sam, now! Run for the gym!"_ Danny shouts, his voice oddly metallic.

She bursts through the door, sprinting for the gym.

_"__Hide the earbud, and remember,"_ he repeats, _"Don't tell anyone."_

She crashes through the gym doors, surreptitiously sliding the earbud into her pocket. Tucker notices her, and nods his head. She brushes away the worried teachers, and leans against the wall beside him.

"Tuck…" she pants, "Danny…"

"He'll be fine," he assures, tapping his ear. She realizes he's wearing an earbud like the one in her pocket, but he's attached a wire to it to make it look like he's listening to music, "Phantom's shown up. Danny's camping at one of our safe zones until Ember's cleared out. Don't worry about him."

"Isn't Danny supposed to be failing gym?" she whispers, "I saw him dodging those attacks, Tucker."

He chews his cheek, "we have reasons for failing on purpose," he answers.

"Are you…" she whispers, "Are you guys fighting ghosts? Danny said it wasn't his 'first party'. Is that why he's always disappearing?"

He shifts, "…yeah," he mutters, "Look, you _cannot_ tell anyone."

"How does he do it?" she presses, "You two can't _possibly_ hide everything–"

"Oh," he laughs, watching the ghost shield lift, "You'd be _amazed_ at what a person can hide in Amity Park."

"Still," she frowns, "How…?"

"Let's just say that Danny can get his hands on some pretty impressive technology," Tucker smiles, "If his parents are gone, I can slip into the lab to make any modifications we need. I'm pretty familiar with ecto-weaponry, if I do say so myself. Maddie Fenton keeps a neat filing cabinet, so it's simple to read through the original blueprints."

"So…does this technology include something that can erase black eyes and turn a split lip into a scar within a class period?"

He stumbles over nothing, "When…?"

"The first day of school," she answers, "I saw him in the hallway, before class. When he noticed me, he slipped into the men's room. He was in the middle of wrapping his knuckles."

"No one knows about it," Tucker whispers, "Maybe…maybe Danny will tell you sometime. Maybe…maybe someday, you'll know everything."

His eyes darkened, pain flashing through their depths.

"Everything?"

"Yeah," he croaks, "everything."

-BREAK-

Danny's head shoots up as she sits heavily at the table, allowing her lunch box to thump heavily on the table. His blue eyes travel her like she's some foreign, unidentifiable object. Tucker takes a sip of his milk with raised eyebrows.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asks.

They shake their heads hurriedly.

"I figured I should return this," she places the earbud in front of him, "Sorry I didn't get it back to you before the weekend. I probably should've given it to you," she nods at Tucker, "when we were talking in the gym."

"No problem," Danny grunts, rubbing at the back of his neck, "I was busy with recharging the mini ghost-shield anyway. We have plenty of Fenton-Phones anyhow."

"Oh?" she smirks, "So can I keep it?"

He snatches it from the table before she can reclaim it, "_That_ could be a problem."

She notices Valerie's groups staring her way, but pays no attention to their questioning stares.

"You _do_ realize that sitting with us is like issuing a death warrant for your popularity, right?" Tucker smirks.

"Do I look like I care about things like that?" Sam retorts.

"Well, maybe it'll get Dash to stop looking at you like a piece of meat," Danny shrugs.

"I know!" she hisses, "He's creeping me out. He's been following me around and misquoting poetry. I didn't know that it was possible to butcher 'Death and the Lady'."

Danny laughs, the sound entrancing her, "You're one of the few girls around who doesn't bow to his will. King Dash is perplexed."

"He's going to get my steel-toed boot in his groin if he doesn't back off," she growls.

"Note to self," Danny coughs, "Don't tick off Sam."

"Note copied."

-BREAK-

"Hey, Manson!" someone shouts, "Where's your boyfriend?"

She turns, confused, "Who?"

Dash sneers, "Where's Fen-tina?"

"He is _not_ my boyfriend," she frowns, a small blush rising to her cheeks.

"So, thin and wimpy is your type, huh?" he continues, "Then again, I guess Goths have a thing for skeletons, huh?"

_He could throw you across the hallway!_ She bites her tongue, holding it back. Granted, she hasn't _seen_ the evidence, but his tight abs against her back…she cuts off those thoughts, "No, we just don't like self-centered jocks who can't understand that we're _so not interested_."

"Oh, so you're admitting you _like_ Fenton?"

"Dash, all I'm saying is that _I. Don't. Like. You._ I figured you'd get it, seeing as I ignore you, push past you…"

"You're just playing hard-to-get," he scoffs.

"No, Dash," she frowns, storming closer, "I just think you're a bully, and I don't like bullies. I had my fill of them in New York, and they were a _lot_ scarier than you. I'm not one of your cheerleaders – I could _step_ in most of them and not get wet. I don't worship the ground you walk on. You're a big, nasty, tyrannical oaf and I wouldn't spend time with you if you were the last person on Earth!"

"Fenton's not exactly a rose, either," he sneers.

"Oh?"

"He has no future," he continues, "He'll drop out of high school and spend the rest of his life at the Nasty Burger. I guess his sister got all of the good genes. He'll end up a big, fat, clumsy idiot like his dad!"

"Tucker, if that day comes, I want you to shoot me," Danny remarks dryly behind Dash, "Promise."

"Promise," Tucker nods.

"Hey, Fen-toenail!" Dash chuckles, whirling around, "I was just telling your girlfriend here why she should ditch you."

"Girlfriend?"

"I am _not_ his girlfriend!" Sam hisses.

"She is _not_ my girlfriend!" he repeats.

Tucker smirks behind his PDA, "…you know, Dash…this year, your grades are worse than Danny's. I mean, he ditches class a lot, but he always makes it up and gets all of his work done. He hasn't tested below an eighty so far."

"I have an excellent tutor," Danny claps his friend on the shoulder, "One that I don't _flirt with_," He glares at Dash, "You _do_ realize that Jazz was only using you for a project, right? She was going to write a thesis on 'Tutoring the Un-Tutor-able'…she had to scrap it because her thesis statement was that _everyone_ is tutor-able, and you _weren't_."

"…you have a sister?" Sam questions, "…and she tutors Dash?"

"Yeah, she's off at college this year. She tried tutoring Dash back in Freshman year. She's pretty smart, but even _she_ couldn't pull it off. He was too busy making eyes at her."

"She's totally hot," Dash smiles.

"If you keep daydreaming about my sister, Dash, I'll be forced to take drastic measures," Danny frowns.

"Like what, going to punch me, Fenton?"

"No, we'll just release _this_ on the internet," Tucker pulls the jock close, showing him something on the PDA. The athlete pales.

"How…?"

"There were cameras there. No one claimed the footage, so Tuck helped himself to it. Not bad, huh?" Danny smiles, "Now, if you'll excuse us," he takes Sam's wrist, his hand ice-cold, and pulls her away.

"Dude, I can't believe you had me use the trump-card," Tucker pouts.

"Keeping his thoughts away from Jazz is worth it," Danny replies simply.

"What is it?" Sam questions.

They grin broadly, "So, there was this time where a ghost virus infected the school," Danny begins, "And everyone was moved to a hospital that was being run by a ghost. Of course, no one _knew_ he was a ghost. Anyway, Tuck and I weren't affected, but we knew something was up with the place. We snuck in and saved the day, no one the wiser. Well, the run-down hospital they were quarantined in had cameras. We managed to get an archived video of Dash sniffling over a soap opera."

"You're joking," she laughs.

"Totally true," Tuck adds, "We have another one of him telling Bertrand – and I quote – 'When she sings "Wind Beneath My Wings," I just go to pieces', end quote."

She clutches at her sides.

"He screamed like a girl when Bertrand transformed into a monster," Danny finishes, "So, technically, we showed only one of the cards in our hands."

"And you've never used it?!"

"I don't like the idea of blackmailing him," Danny scratches at the back of his neck – a nervous tell she's quickly become familiar with.

"You'd rather _let_ yourself get beaten up."

"I want to stay as his _only_ target. Keep him away from everyone else, especially Jazz. You know the deal."

"You must be really close with your sister," she smiles.

"Eh," he shrugs, "she's my sister."

"This is coming from the guy who followed her and threatened to reshape the face of the ghost flirting with her. The guy who kept interrupting their dates."

"He was a _ghost_, Tuck," Danny defends, "and he was trying to get Jazz to wear his girlfriend's clothes so that said girlfriend could _steal her body_. I think I was pretty justified!"

"I can't believe I missed out on all of this," Sam sighs sadly, "I mean…I could've moved to Amity back in seventh grade, but my dad turned down the job. They offered him enough this time. Well, if we're honest, I also pitched a fit about moving in the middle of the school year. I don't know why," she snorts, "It's not like I had friends."

"Well," Danny smiles, his blue eyes shining in the sunlight as they emerge outside, "Just stick around, and maybe you'll hear more of our stories."

"Sounds like a plan."


	2. Music Inspirations

**A/N: So I put on my Pandora and would write ****_whatever_**** came to mind while listening to the song. These little bits are just what I could write during the song. They are just…random.**

One Shots #2 – Music Inspirations

**"****What I've Done" – Linkin Park**

The smoking remains of buildings scatter the landscape around him. The earth is silent, outside of his own heartbeat, and the settling of ruins. His blue eyes scan the horizon.

"Someone…" he whispers roughly, "_anyone_?"

No one replies.

"Please, _no_. I…" his eyes begin to tear up, "…Did I…?"

_You did this, Danny,_ the voice in his head tells him, _you killed them all…_

**"****Lies" – Evanescence**

He's long since isolated himself, vanishing from the world. His haunted, blue eyes always remained green now. He trains. He fights.

"Danny, you're okay, you're strong enough now," Tucker whispers, "You can't keep blaming yourself."

_No you're not…_

His friend doesn't reply, instead looking at the framed picture on the desk.

"I couldn't protect her, Tuck," he comments quietly, "I can't let it happen again. Never."

_You'll never be strong enough…_

"You'll get yourself _killed _at this rate!" Tucker shouts, throwing his beret to the floor. Then it all clicks. His eyes go wide, and the blood drains from his face.

Danny stares at him with haunted eyes.

_They don't really care about _you._ They only fear what you protect them from._

"…is that your plan, Danny?" he whispers.

"I miss her, Tuck," his voice breaks, "I…I _need_ her. I need to hear her voice, see her smile…my light is gone, Tuck."

**"****Lord of the Rings" – The PianoGuys**

The cold steel of his sword slices through the air, and he removes the head from another wraith. It dissipates, the energy he'd sent through his blade spreading through its form. His green eyes glow in the darkness of the dawn.

Finally, the clearing empty of his foes, he sheathes his weapon. His horse whickers nervously nearby, and he soothes it with a calming rub along its neck, "There, there," he whispers, "I'm okay, and so are you."

He runs a gloved hand through his white locks.

"They never end, do they?"

**"****Hand of Sorrow" – Within Temptation**

"I want him dead," she growls, her amethyst eyes narrowing.

"If you wish it, Milady?" the voice at her side questions.

"Yes," she nods, "Do it tonight."

"As you wish," she thinks she can see his green eyes for a moment, but then he's gone.

He kneels in the church, his hands clenching tightly as he prays, "What am I supposed to do?" he whispers raggedly, "Am I to do as she asks, as I am sworn? Or am I to save her from herself? Can I do the first, and still claim I love her?"

He'd been born with unusual powers. Abandoned by those who should have loved him, he'd been found by a young princess. She'd taken him in, fed him, clothed him…

But she still did not give him a name.

"Your powers are meant only to serve me," she'd told him, "me alone."

He draws the small dagger from his side, and watches as his body vanishes. He then phases through the walls.

"My oath it is."

**"****Rush" – The Seatbelts**

"Hurry up, Tucker!" he shouts, dodging a bullet. He leaps into his car, and starts the engine, "We've _got_ to get out of here!"

"You don't need to tell _me_!" he answers, keeping his hat plastered to his head, "But I think _your girlfriend_ needs some encouragement!"

"Come on, Tuck!" Sam grins, farther behind, "I just want to play!" She snatches an apple from a fruit stand as they go by and dodges a baton.

"_Sam_," Danny growls, trying not to smile, "I'll play plenty with you later. Let's go!"

She sighs, "Spoil-sports."

**"****Dance, Dance" – Fall Out Boy**

His breath is cold, mixing with her heat. His lips are desperate, his hands pulling her closer.

"Danny–" she breathes.

"We don't have much time," he whispers against her neck, "Shouldn't we make the best of it?"

"Time? Danny, what's going on?"

"Don't worry about it," he whispers, "I just…I want to remember this, Sam."

She tries to press him further, but his lips cover hers. She surrenders to it, letting her protests leave in the moment.

**"****Whispers" – Evanescence**

She stares at the broken body beside her, the world silencing around her.

"No, Danny, _no_," she pleads, scrambling to his side.

"Sam!" Tucker pulls her away, "We need to get out of here."

"He's your _best friend_, Tucker!" she screams, "You want to just _leave him here_?!"

"He's _dead,_ Sam!" he yells back, "We have to keep moving!"

"No, Danny, please," she whispers, her eyes still locked onto his still form.

Suddenly, the world around her vanishes, and she's standing next to Danny again. White wings are splayed against the pavement, stained with blood.

An angel, shot down.


	3. College Life 1

**A/N: So, for Crown of Fire, I'll probably go back to more updates/shorter chapters. I probably won't get it updated today, but maybe tomorrow. (Sat. 29****th****) Here's a bit of Sam and Danny's college life. Not a lot, but I'll write more little shots about the time there. If you're confused about this chapter, read the Journey of Secrets, Adrift, Crown of Fire trilogy. (Crown of Fire is in-progress.)**

Shot #3: College Life 1

"Danny, are you okay?" she whispers, grasping his cold hand in hers. A tremor moves through him.

"I…I'm fine," he croaks, trying to ignore the itch somewhere in his mind – or is it in his soul? He decides it's both.

She frowns, tracing the dark circles under his eyes. Green and red swirl through the irises, and his other hand spasms, clenching into his jeans. His palm is clammy, and she watches a trickle of sweat trace his jaw.

"Being away from Amity has a toll, it seems," she whispers sadly.

"Sam," he coughs, trying to laugh, "I'm not going to stay within the boundaries of _one city_ for the rest of my life. Don't get me wrong – I love Amity Park. It's my home. But the world is bigger than that, and sometimes, life requires us to change locations."

"Danny," she whispers, "You're in _physical pain._"

"It'll go away," he dismisses weakly.

"No, it won't," she whispers, "This isn't like an addiction. You can't quit and move on after the withdrawals. A ghost's obsession is _much_ more. You know that."

He closes his eyes, leaning into the hand she uses to cup his jaw, "I know," he whispers quietly, "But what can I do? I can't go ghost here. Someone would make the connection between Fenton and Phantom."

"I've always found Danny Fenton to be a bit of hero, myself," she smiles softly, "my hero."

"Eternally yours," he promises, kissing her hand. His breath hitches, and his grip tightens around her fingers. He slumps over, leaning his forehead against her shoulder, "but you're an awful damsel in distress."

"That's true," she laughs, running a hand through his hair, "…go to Amity this weekend. If you fly, it shouldn't take long. No one has to know Danny Fenton's back in town, just Phantom. Beat up a few baddies, save someone's day…get yourself balanced out, and we'll think of something to take care of this in the meantime."

"'We'?"

"I'm going to discuss it with Tuck, obviously. He may be off at M.I.T., but I'm sure he can help me come up with something."

"Sam–"

"Danny, Sean's getting worried. He was asking me if you were okay."

"What did you tell him?"

"That whoever had our apartment before had a cat and we're discovering just how allergic you are. We need to deep-clean this place anyway, so you head off to Amity, and I'll make sure it gets cleaned. You come back, feeling better, and voila! No wonder you don't have any more problems, the apartment has become _completely_ devoid of any feline follicles."

"So we can never get a cat – not that I have a problem with that," he adds quickly.

"I'd rather have a snake," she agrees.

"That's better than a tarantula," he laughs, quickly beginning to cough again.

Sam's smile falls from her face, and she pushes him gently to the bed, "You need to rest, Danny. I'll call Sean and tell him that he'll need to have someone cover for you. Try to get some sleep, feed on some emotions, and be ready to fly home soon. I can feel you walling me off in your mind, Daniel Fenton," her amethyst eyes narrow, "You're worse than you're letting on – and even _that_ is pretty bad. Go home for a little while. Promise me."

He nods, allowing his consciousness to slip away, "…'romise…"

-BREAK-

"Danny!" Sean grins, clapping the thinner young man on the shoulder with a large hand, "You're looking _much_ better! That weekend in Amity Park did you well, huh? Not _my_ choice in vacation hotspots, but…I suppose that for you, it's home."

"Thanks, Sean," Danny smiles back, rubbing his shoulder, "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble."

"We're pretty sure we've taken care of the problem," Sam adds.

Sean scratches at his salt-and-pepper beard, "That's good, but I hear that someone's also adding to his school schedule?" he quirks a dark eyebrow.

"For certification as just a 'Basic' EMT, it'll take eight to eleven weeks at most. From there, I can get my Intermediate, and then go ahead and get a national qualification…"

"Hurting that much for cash, huh, Danny?" he questions.

"Well, the extra cash won't hurt, but…" he shifts, "I hate being unable to help…"

"He's a busybody," Sam simplifies.

"Hey!"

"He also likes that he might have some time to do his homework on the clock."

"…that is another bonus."

Sean laughs and shakes his head, "Well, I'm not too worried. You're a good kid. You're both good kids. A little odd, but I suppose that's a result of…well, of Amity Park."

"People tend to say that a lot."


	4. Tattoos

**A/N: So…Chapter 4 of Crown of Fire has only gotten 5 reviews so far. I praise you for all of your reviews and YOU STOP? That isn't how this works. Just reminding you – lots of reviews remind me that I have people waiting for updates. Anyway, here's a couple super-shorts about Sam's Tattoo in the High School AU, and then about Danny's Tattoo in Crown of Fire. Enjoy!**

Shot #4: Tattoos

**High School AU-Related: How Pamela first saw the tattoo.**

"It's healing well, Bubbeleh," Ida smiles, "just keep up with what we're doing."

"Thanks," Sam returns, "for helping. It's hard to reach it myself."

She looks over her shoulder at the design on her shoulder-blade. The skull grins up at her from his thorny web.

"It looks good on you," her grandmother nods.

"It's going to be–"

The door swings open, and Pamela Manson strides in, a dress in one hand, "Sammy! You simply _have_ to try this–"

They both fall silent, their eyes wide. Sam stands, frozen in place. Pamela's eyes are locked onto the tattoo on her daughter's shoulder.

"What…?" She begins, heat rising in her face.

"It's lovely, isn't it, Pamela?" Ida smiles.

"_You let her get a tattoo?!_"

"She's free to get one if she wants too. I made sure she went to a decent shop, and didn't get something trashy. At least it isn't on her posterior!"

"Pamela, what is going on?" Jeremy inquires, sticking his head into the room.

"Your _mother_!" Pamela screeches, "She let _our daughter_ to get a _tattoo_!"

His eyes lock onto the ink, and he steps closer for a better look, "Pamela…"

"This is unacceptable–"

"You know…"

"–for her to provide consent–"

"Pamela…" He finally turns and grasps his wife's shoulders, whispering something into her ear. Her rambling instantly ceases, her mouth snapping shut. Her face remains a furious red, but she excuses herself from the room.

"Dad…?"

"It suits you, Sammykins," he smirks, "I'm not terribly surprised."

"How did you…?" Sam stares in amazement at the doorway her mother had used, "You just…she…she stopped in her tracks."

"I simply reminded her of one little thing," he laughs.

"What's that?"

"Maybe you'll find out someday."

_You used to have a tattoo around your ankle, Pamela. You got drunk at your bachelorette party. Can you criticize her for deciding to get one while sober?...I thought not._

**Crown of Fire: Danny's Tattoo**

"I can't believe you talked me into doing this," Danny groans, "I must be crazy."

"You big baby," Sam snorts, "You get thrown through buildings regularly, but a tattoo parlor strikes fear into your heart?"

"Bruises aren't permanent," he retorts.

"Your scars are," she counters, "You can get a tattoo removed. With minimal scarring, if you find somewhere good and can fork out the money."

"You know, because I need _more_ of them," he snorts.

"Come on, Danny," she smiles, "I'm getting one too."

"Sam…"

"You're not getting this just for the sake of having some art," She starts quietly, "remember?"

He'd wanted to be an astronaut. To see space, to look down on the Earth. Now, a half-ghost, he'd had that chance a few years ago, during the disasteroid incident. While he will always love space, there is one vital problem.

Becoming an astronaut would require passing physicals. Ones he can't possibly pass without revealing the truth.

Several hours later, he looks in the mirror, his eyes tracing the NASA tattoo on his shoulder-blade, a final marker for his childhood dream, put to rest.

_Danny, promise me you'll never forget the teen boy who loves to relax and stare up at the night sky. The boy who sees the wonders of the universe. Promise that you won't let him vanish, leaving only a jaded hero in his place._

"I promise," he whispers to his reflection.


	5. College Life 2: Sean

**A/N: A bit on how Sean met Danny and became his boss. I'll probably write a few more shots with him.**

Shot #5: Sean

The night air, a cold front coming down from Canada to the north, nips at his nose. He stuffs his hands further into his pockets, wishing he'd brought gloves. The wind cuts straight through his hoodie.

He fumbles with the keys at the back door, sighing in relief as he enters the warmth of his establishment. His eyes scan the back room quickly, noting nothing out of place. He makes his way to the cellar, where the regulated fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit still seems warm in comparison to the world outside.

A clink from a distant corner of the cellar catches his attention, and he places the bottle of wine back in the rack. He can hear someone knock at the back door above – an applicant he's called in for an interview.

He steps softly towards the back corner, and the small clinking sound. He can see a faint light through the bottles.

A small man with a long beard browses the stock, his green skin reflecting eerily on the glasses. His red eyes, rimmed with shadow, scan each label carefully. His gnarled fingers trace the label. Suddenly, those burning eyes whirl on him. He feels himself freeze, caught in the crimson glare.

_"__You _dare_ look upon me? You, a _plebian_ pub-master?!" _He snarls hoarsely.

Sean frowns, "All I'm looking at is some ectoplasmic freak browsing my stockroom without permission!"

_"__You scum!"_ he shouts, _"I am Harold, a true disciple of Dionysus, the God of Wine!"_

"Well, you can go upstairs like a normal customer – provided you can pay," he retorts.

_"__No tramp that walks into your pub could _possibly_ understand the true value of this bottle!"_

"Well, you can buy it if you want. I'll hold it for you. Come back after I open," he reaches for the bottle, only to feel a force slam into his chest. His breath is forced from his lungs, and he flies back, his head cracking against the stone wall.

_"__It's mine!"_

"I think not," someone snorts from the direction of the stairs, "Give it back."

_"__And who might _you_ be?!"_

Sean blinks, clearing his blurred vision. The new face is a young man with black hair and blue eyes. He stands on the bottom step, a stern frown on his face.

"Sorry, Mr. O'Hare. I heard a ruckus and let myself in. My name is Daniel Fenton. I'm here for an interview," he apologizes.

_"…__Fenton?"_

"Yeah," Danny smiles, striding closer to the ghoul. He looms over the specter, his back to the disoriented owner. He says something quietly, and the ghost's eyes widen in fear.

_"__No…"_ he whimpers weakly, _"It's _mine._"_

"No, it isn't," the applicant hisses, carefully taking the bottle from his hand and returning it to its place on the rack, "Now leave. If you want something from here, come as a legitimate patron or don't come at all. Understand?"

It nods weakly and fades away.

The young man turns to the fallen owner, and helps him stand, one arm over his shoulder, "Are you alright, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Call me Sean, Daniel."

"Danny, _please_," he laughs.

"Danny, then. It's nice to meet you. Good timing, I suppose."

"Yeah," they stumble up the stairs, and Danny places him carefully into a chair, "Let me see," he swivels the chair, his cold fingers examining the forming goose-egg on the back of Sean's head, "It's not bleeding, and I don't think you have a concussion…We should probably put some ice on it, though."

"There are plastic bags in that drawer," he motions to one, "And there's ice over there."

Danny quickly makes the icepack and wraps it in a towel before handing it to his potential boss.

"…Fenton, huh?"

"Yes, Sir."

"As in…Amity Park?"

"Yes, Sir," he smiles.

"Well, that explains your comfort with ghosts. What did you tell him, anyway? He looked like he might croak – again."

"I just explained that I've dealt with ghosts _way_ higher on the totem pole," Danny dismisses, "And that I could shove him into a Fenton Thermos for a week or two. It's pretty cramped in there – so I'm told."

Sean laughs, "Thankfully, ghosts aren't as common around here, though they're popping up more and more. I hear that's happening all around the U.S."

"What're your views on ghosts?" Danny inquires.

"I don't care, as long as they pay and don't cause problems."

"I can agree to that," he laughs, "Anyway…I was here for an interview?"

"You're hired," Sean waves, "If I find out you can't actually tend bar, I'll keep you around as a bouncer. You're a skinny kid, but you can definitely hold your own. Besides, someone who isn't fazed by…the ectoplasmic sort…is going to be a good investment in the future."

"Yeah," Danny smirks, "especially as the currency standard of the Infinite Realms is _gold_."

"…really?"

"Yeah. Several business owners in Amity now have prices in both gold and dollars. Granted, it isn't _just_ gold. It's gold, silver, and copper. Occasionally, someone won't have anything but a gemstone. Johnny Thirteen made Mrs. Marigold rich, what with all the flowers he's always buying to apologize to his girlfriend."

"Well, I'll be…" Sean shakes his head, "I think I need a drink."

Danny laughs, "Well, I'm not sure if a doctor would advise that–"

"Just make one."

"Yes, Sir."

-OMAKE-

Sean watches the young woman who slips through the patrons, gliding to the bar. Danny hands her a pair of keys – his own, he notices – and she blows him a kiss as she slips back out the door.

"Is that your girlfriend, Danny?"

"Yes, Sir."

"…does she need a job?"


	6. College Life 3: Gettin' Deep in O'Hare's

**A/N: So…wisdom teeth, removed. Pretty easy time of it, so far. We'll see if I'm in more pain tomorrow. But I have today, tomorrow, and Friday off…which means…PLENTY OF WRITING TIME! I know I should be working on Crown of Fire…but I'm having fun writing my little one-shots. :D**

**This one, like the previous, is related to Crown of Fire, which is the final book of my trilogy. It starts with Journey of Secrets, Adrift, and then Crown of Fire. If you've been confused by this chapter or the one before, I would suggest reading them.**

**Anyway: Question-answering time!**

**MsFrizzle: I've already PM'd you this response, but I'm posting it here for everyone else to see. ****J****Bartending, for some establishments, is primarily an evening/night job. In some establishments, bartenders get an hourly wage + tips. That average hourly wage is, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, is $10.36. (This varies by state and establishment - that's just the national average. They can get paid like most servers at approx. $2.13/hr.) But that doesn't include tips, which make up approximately %55 percent of a bartender's earnings. Drunk people tend to tip pretty well.**

**Sean, Danny's employer, started Danny's pay at $5.50/hr+tips, and now he's making $7/hr+tips.**

**But besides the money...**

**The schedule is usually pretty flexible, and allows for Danny to attend classes or study in the morning and work in the evening. Danny actually originally worked somewhere else as a waiter, but made his way up VERY quickly. (It's that hero charisma and sense of leadership, you see.) He was soon learning to tend bar with a coworker. After that, he saw a "Help Wanted" sign on Sean's bar and decided to put in an application. Sean was offering better pay, after all.**

**Wow...that was a long-winded response to your simple comment...**

**DannyPhantom619: *Stare* Who I always ship him with. Sam.**

Shot #6: More Sean – College Days Super-Shorts

He twists a couple more wires together as he sits at the top of the ladder, "….and…there we go. That should do it, Sean."

"So this ghost shield will keep them from entering my bar from any direction but the front door, and keep them out of the back entirely?"

"And keep them from ditching on their tabs. Yeah," Danny nods, "It should…provided that my parents didn't mess up on the instructions. Always a possibility with my dad, but I think I caught any problems in the making."

"So you want me to turn on the power?"

"Yeah," Danny nods, waiting. His eyes scour the bar while Sean runs to the breaker. It's covered in plastic and dust, from the renovations they've done over the past three days. It'll be good as new in another two.

A slight hum rises to the air – noticed only because of his ectoplasmically-enhanced senses – and he scans the room. Noticing that Sean is still away, he slides down the ladder and allows his cold core to rise to the surface – not enough to transform, but it allows him to phase into the walls, floor, and ceiling to check the ghost shield. It won't deter _him_, with the built-in mechanisms that adjust for his ecto-signature that are now Fenton-standard, but it'll do the trick for his fellow ghosts. He phases back to the main room, returning to solid form just before Sean enters.

"We good?" he inquires.

"Yep," Danny grins, "All good. You won't be getting a ghost in the stockroom again."

-BREAK-

"So who's the new kid?"

"That's my new bartender, Danny. He has a lot to learn, but he picks things up fast, and he has the charisma for it," Sean explains to the older patron – a regular at his establishment since he'd opened it more than ten years ago. John Waterson.

O'Hare's – Sean will be the first to tell you he's no good at coming up with creative names – is a surprisingly large hole-in-the-wall in downtown Kruegerville. It serves drinks for those over twenty-one, and food for anyone who walks through the heavy doors. A family-friendly establishment.

"I can tell. That girl he's talking to is going to tip him _real_ well, if she doesn't lean across the bar and kiss him."

"I don't think Sam would take that well," Sean laughs.

"Sam?"

"Danny's girlfriend. The waitress over there," he nods in her direction, where she places a burger platter in front of an excited child, "The one with the black hair, purple streaks?"

"The Goth?"

"Yeah."

"…That's _his_ girlfriend?"

"Yep."

"Odd couple," he shrugs, sipping again at his scotch.

"They work, though," Sean laughs, "They both have their quirks. Sam, for instance, is an…" he tries to remember, "ultra-recyclo-vegetarian. She's also – as you noted – a Goth. Her family's rich, but she tries to avoid touching her trust find as much as possible. I think the only time she dipped into it was when her car broke down. She's very independent, and can be a little hot-headed sometimes. She doesn't do well with authority figures. She's the type who rebels for the sake of rebelling – the status quo is bad."

"Sounds like the type of person who _shouldn't_ be a waitress."

"I give her leeway," Sean shrugs, "I set a few basic rules, and she follows them. I try to seat my…more difficult patrons with her. She'll make sure that no one drinks themselves into alcohol poisoning, and that no one has their keys when they've had a few too many. She can handle herself pretty well."

The older gentleman nods in understanding, "She's your stern hand over the floor."

"Yeah."

One of the men Sam is serving drinks to leans from his seat and slaps her butt as she passes. The room immediately goes cold, and Sean draws the older patron's attention to the young bartender. He's gone still for a moment, his eyes locked with the offender's. John suppresses a shiver at the cold gaze.

It lasts for no longer than a breath.

In the blink of an eye, the charming smile is back on Danny's face, and he's chatting with another girl at his end of the bar as though nothing happened. The offender is halfway out the door.

"Sean…" John begins, "What the…?"

"It felt longer, didn't it?" Sean laughs, "Not everybody notices it. The only reason you did was because I pointed it out to you. Danny can be the nicest guy in the room – he probably _is_ the nicest guy in the room – but he can be pretty scary. When I met him, he intimidated a _ghost_ that was invading my stockroom."

The older patron whistles softly.

"No kidding. I told him that even if he couldn't mix drinks, I'd keep him around. Sam's the stern hand, but Danny's the peacekeeper. If I have any problems, I hand them to him. Most the time, he can diffuse them almost immediately. Things have gotten rough once or twice, and he still took pretty quick care of it. The kid is tough as nails. I've seen him take a fist to the face – Billy Sharp, remember him?"

"Used to be a boxer, right? I remember he clocked you once and broke your nose, almost fractured your jaw," John nods absently.

"He was here a week ago, on a huge tear. Anyway, he got a pretty good hit on Danny. Kid shrugged it off and didn't even have a bruise the next day."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm completely serious," Sean insists, "Danny's one of the nicest kids I've met, but I don't want to see what happens when he's _really_ mad."

"It's not fun," Sam comments, stopping briefly on the way to the kitchen, "trust me."

"Come on, Sam," Sean whispers, "Tell us an example."

She raises an eyebrow, but relents, "Did you hear about the cruise liner that was taken hostage by pirates this past Spring Break?"

"Yeah," John nods, "The leaders of the crew were never found, though."

"Danny and I were on board. The leader of the group was a man named Yulian Kovich. Danny and I were among those that stayed behind. The pirates wanted to sell us all off as human cargo. Danny ran as decoy to help my dad and ended up getting caught. They tortured him, threatened me, and who knows what else. Let's just shorten the story and say that Danny escaped, got them all on their own boat, and dragged them to the Ghost Zone – we had some Fenton Tech with us, experimental stuff. Anyway, we're in the Infinite Realms, and Danny suggests that I go to a friend of ours for some help. When I get back, I find out that he was playing Russian Roulette _with their knees_. Kovich's not going to be walking for a while. I don't think you need to worry about it too much," she laughs, seeing their expressions, "It takes _a lot_ to get Danny that angry. A _lot._"

"…Amity Park," Sean laughs and shakes his head after a moment.

"Yeah, Amity Park. I mean, not _everyone_ is used to the crap Danny, Tuck, and I are. But when your boyfriend becomes a secret ghost-hunter in his freshman year of high school, you end up in some pretty crazy situations. I mean, he wasn't my boyfriend at the time – not until a bit before Junior year – but still…" she resumes her walk to the kitchen, "maybe we'll tell you some of our stories someday, Sean."

"I'll look forward to it."

-BREAK-

"We have a visitor from the Infinite Realms," Danny whispers, heard only by his boss, "Trench coat, red tie."

Sean's eyes wander towards the doorway, where a man cautiously stands, his hands in his pockets. Green eyes scan the room rapidly. His tan trench coat is ragged at the edges, and his tie is crooked. His skin is pale grey, the unusual shade hardly noticeable in the dim lighting of the pub. He sits nervously at the end and places a torn hat on the counter.

Danny saunters over, "Welcome to O'Hare's," he grins, "I'm Danny," his hand extends for a shake.

"…Jonathan," the ghoul mutters quietly, accepting the hand.

"Our policy for ghosts is the same as everyone else," Danny whispers, "just don't cause trouble, and don't try to skip on the bill."

"Rare, in this town," Jonathan mutters, "I hear Amity Park's pretty open to us."

"Yeah," Danny laughs, "You heading up there?"

"Actually, I'm here to meet a friend halfway. His name is Johnny."

"Thirteen?"

"Yeah."

"…Just make sure he leaves the shadow outside."

"Y-yeah," he sips from his glass, "And the bike, hm?"

"Yeah," _::Sam, Johnny Thirteen's coming. Keep an eye on the door and make sure the shadow stays outside.::_

_::Got it,::_ she replies.

He can sense the familiar presence before the door opens. Johnny slides inside, only for Sam to grasp his shoulder.

"Shadow stays outside, Johnny," she growls.

"Whoa," he grins, "If it isn't goth-girl!"

"Shadow _outside_, Johnny," she repeats.

"Yeah, yeah," his shadow disconnects, and she opens the door to let it outside, "Pretty neat place, here. Noticed the ghost shield in the walls. You have something to do with that?"

"No, that was Danny," she nods towards the bar.

"Yo! Danny!" he grins, jogging to the bar, "Long time no see!"

"Yeah," the bartender replies, "Keeping your nose clean?"

"Yeah, yeah. I mean, Kitty and I had a bit of a spat the other day, but your cousin intervened and told us that if we were going to fight, we could do it in the Ghost Zone. Nothing big," he shrugs, leaning back, "I wasn't expecting to see you here, Man. I mean, who would've thought? Then again, of _course_ you'd be the one involved in a ghost-friendly joint, right?"

"As long as you don't cause trouble and can pay," Danny snorts.

"Yeah, got it."

"So, Johnny, how do you know him?" Jonathan asks, sipping at his glass.

"Dude," Johnny whispers, "That's _the halfa._ Danny _Phantom_."

Jonathan splutters, erupting into a coughing fit, "What?!"

"Keep it quiet," Danny hisses, green flashing subtly at the edges of his irises, "Not common knowledge on this side, remember?"

"Really, all you have to remember is that he can beat you seven ways to Sunday," Johnny shrugs, "Anyway, it's been a long time, Jon. What've you been up to?"

Danny serves up a few other drinks, keeping an eye on the ghostly patrons.

"You know one of them?" Sean inquires.

"Yeah, the guy with blond hair. That's Johnny Thirteen. He's an Amity Park regular. If he's here sometime when Sam and I aren't, make sure he leaves his shadow outside. It's prone to causing destruction – his 'bad-luck-shadow'. He has a habit of flirting with human girls, and it ticks off his girlfriend, Kitty. You might see her in here, if Johnny decides to show up regularly. Green, chin-length, eighties hair, grey skin, red eyes. She wears a red jacket and a magenta scarf. Just look for those."

"So…he's a friend?"

"I didn't start out that way," Johnny interrupts with a chuckle, "Then again, us ghosts were…not acting peaceably at the time. We've settled and come to an understanding…some of us, anyway. Myself included. Mostly because of Danny...and Phantom."

"I'm curious. Why come to our side to begin with?" Sean inquires.

"To satisfy their obsession," Danny answers, "All ghosts have one. Some of them can be satisfied in the Infinite Realms, but…not all of them. It's easier to satisfy them in the Mortal Realms."

"And what is Johnny's obsession, if it's not too rude to ask? I'm not exactly versed in ghostly etiquette."

"I'd say to just…be careful. I'm not touchy, but Kitty is…My obsession, huh?" Johnny ponders, "I'm not sure if I've really _thought_ about it, you know? It'd be like…explaining why you like girls. Most of the time, you don't really think about it, you just…do," he shrugs, "I guess I come to the mortal realms to feel the wind on my face, to make sure I don't forget…the exhilaration of being alive. The smell of tarmac and oil."

"The girls don't hurt," Danny smirks.

"No," he laughs, "They don't. I love Kitty, but every once in a while, I just…_crave_ seeing crowds of people. The Ghost Zone's a big place, and everyone keeps to themselves. It just…it's isolated. A lonely place, in my opinion. I suppose that's my obsession. Not really sure how to sum it up in a word, though."

"Some obsessions are like that."

"Some are really easy though," Johnny laughs, "Like The Box Ghost. Take a guess – I'll bet you don't need three."

"There's a ghost obsessed with…boxes," Sean raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"Yeah. He's not anyone to worry about…like, _ever_. You can always tell the difference between Amity Park residents and tourists based on their reactions to him. Those of us from Amity just swat him away and tell him to get lost. Tourists freak. It's hilarious," Danny chuckles.

"So…how exactly did you two meet? You were saying you weren't exactly on friendly terms…"

"Long story short?" Johnny winces, "I was trying to get out of the Ghost Zone, and Kitty got caught in the portal door. This left her without enough power to stay in the human world. She gave me her coat, scarf, and ring and told me that if I gave it all to a girl in the human world, she'd be able to take her place."

"You're believed to be unlucky for a reason," Danny growls, "First girl you laid eyes on was _my sister_."

"She didn't know I was a ghost, but Danny knew. He kept spying on us, interrupting our meetings, foiling my gift-giving…" he laughs, "Jazz thought he was being a senselessly overprotective younger brother. Anyway, my shadow was obliterated and I ended up in a Fenton Thermos…seriously, dude, can you guys make a bit roomier?"

"Nope," Danny shakes his head, "If anything, we want to miniaturize it to make it more portable."

Johnny winces.

"I've heard they're pretty awful," Jon frowns.

"Imagine being stuck in one of those wine bottles," Johnny motions, "And sometimes sharing with other ghosts."

Even Sean grimaces.

"Your fault for causing trouble," Danny replies simply.

"Yeah, yeah. What about you, Jon?" Johnny turns to his friend, "What's your obsession, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I imagine it's the same as yours, or similar. I just…I think all obsessions have to do with our desire to remember life. You have your bike, I like to read the newspaper and keep up with current events. I just…don't want to be left behind."

They all share a moment of silence.

**A/N: Oh yeah! Check on my profile for a link to a sketch of Impurity! Remember that I'm not fond of my digital artwork, especially in comparison to my traditional work. :D Anyway, have fun!**


	7. Evidence

**A/N: It's super short, but I had fun. It was suggested by avidreaded. Just a quickie for you guys! Also: remember, on my profile, I now have a link to a sketch of Impurity. Enjoy! I need to do a traditional sketch of him, Danny, and Phantom. Probably Sam too. Trust me – my traditional artwork is MILES ahead of my digital work. Anyway, enjoy the second fic of the day!**

Shot #7: Evidence

He stares in horror at the spreading bloodstain on the floor, the many words – most of them curses – dying on his tongue.

Her orange hair splays on the carpet, her blue eyes stare, unseeing, at the wall. Her pearl necklace is scattered across the floor. Her limbs are twisted unnaturally.

"Sam…what did you _do_?" he whispers hoarsely.

"I…I just lost it," she whispers, dropping the trophy to the floor, "What am I going to do?"

-BREAK-

Thank goodness it's dark. Thank goodness that she chose to bash Pamela's brains out in the middle of the night. Thank goodness Jeremy's on a business trip.

"Sam, her arm…"

"Oh, crap," she hisses, stuffing the limp arm back into the rug, "No one saw that, right?"

"I don't think so. Come on. One of the local factories has an incinerator. I can phase us in."

"I…I can't believe I'm about to throw my own mother's corpse into an incinerator," she moans.

"I think you should be worried about having turned her into a corpse _to begin with. _How are you not an emotional wreck right now?!" he hisses back.

"I'm too busy being terrified of becoming a convicted murderer."

"And I'm an accomplice. Maybe they can execute us at the same time."

"Danny!"

"…would it even work on me?"

"Just put her in the trunk already!"

"Yes, Boss."

-BREAK-

"…you didn't really think it'd be a permanent solution, did you?" Danny remarks wearily.

"I can't believe I was stupid enough to hope so," Sam moans.

"Sam," Pamela scolds, her blue hair flaming at the tips. Her skin is pale white, and her eyes red, "I still don't agree with that color scheme. It's just ridiculous!"

"Amity Park," Jeremy comments as he passes by, "Next time, you'll think twice about killing your mother."

"At least now her appearance fits her personality," Ida snorts.

"Are you listening to me? Sammy, we need to get going on this! You don't have forever–" She vanishes in a white-blue beam of light, and Sam snaps the cap onto the thermos.

"We can bury this for a few years, right?"

"…I'll get the shovel."


	8. High School AU 2 - Lovebirds

Shot #8: High School AU #2 - Lovebirds

Junior Year at Casper High. Who would've thought?

Sam waits in front of her house, the January air nipping at her ears and turning her breath into a mist. She's grateful for her leather jacket against the wind. A rumble approaches the street, and Danny pulls in on a motorcycle. She smiles and plops her helmet onto her head before jumping on behind him.

They ease back out into the school-run traffic, and she can't resist grinning as they weave through the streets towards Casper High. She'd originally planned on staying with the bus, but both Danny and Tuck drove themselves to school, opting to avoid the over-crowded bus.

Bus rides are bad enough. Subtract your only friends and add the people who ridicule you? They become beyond awful.

Danny and Tuck both quickly offered to give her a ride, Danny giving the condition that she had to have a jacket and helmet. She earnestly agreed upon seeing a photograph of a scar he'd gotten from a crash without one.

She likes Danny's bike – maybe her parents will get her a motorcycle in exchange for her car.

Yeah, and Danny will gain the ability to fly.

This past Winter Break has been the best one she's ever had. She'd spent nearly every moment with Danny and Tucker – except for the few days her mother dragged her back to New York. Well, that and the fact that Danny and Tucker – especially Danny – had a tendency to vanish. They would eventually return, bruised and bleeding.

She learned to keep a book with her and stay where they left her – they would always come back.

She's pestered them more than once about letting her help, but they always exchange that secretive glance and refuse. She's tried following them too – but always loses them.

It's infuriating.

Her hands clench into Danny's jacket a little more, and she can feel him flinch.

They pull into a parking spot, and she dismounts, immediately turning on Danny.

"Are you hurt?" she asks.

"I'm fine," he replies, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Danny…" she frowns, stepping forward. Her fingers snag the hem of his baggy shirt and pull it up, revealing a patch of gauze just below his ribcage. She avoids staring at his abs – well…she tries, anyway. Her eyes drink them up anyway.

Blood is rushing to his face, "I said I was fine. It's just a scratch."

"Scratches need band-aids, not gauze, Danny," she snorts.

"Can you…you know…?" his eyes shift around, "Pretending to fail gym, remember?"

"Right," she sighs, releasing the shirt, "What happened?"

"Nothing big," he shrugs.

"Danny…" she frowns, keeping him locked in her gaze. She can feel it when he relents.

"Ghost punched through a wall, sent some of the shrapnel flying. One shard hit me. I got it out and sterilized the wound. Trust me, I'll be fine."

She relaxes, "Yeah…okay. Well…let me know if there's anything I can do. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yeah," he smiles, relaxing as well. He grins and bows flamboyantly, "To class, Milady?"

"We should indeed be going," she smiles, taking his offered hand.

It's cold, but it sends warmth through her chest.

"Careful," Tucker sidles up beside them, "You're going to look like a couple."

Danny shrugs, "They've declared us a couple anyway. What good would being careful do?"

She feels heat rise to her face.

"Oh? Look who's not arguing," Tucker grins, leering around his best friend, "Sam?"

"He's right," she brushes, fighting her rising heart-rate, "Besides, it's icy out here, and I have a talent for slipping."

"Do you," he deadpans.

"Yep."

"Mmm-hmm," he snorts.

"Drop it, Tuck. She's telling the truth. Yesterday, she almost split her skull open," his grip tightens around her fingers.

"Oh, I know," he grins, "You made the front page," he lifts the school newspaper. The front article accompanies a photograph of Sam and Danny in the parking lot, Sam caught in a standard 'dipping' pose.

**LOVEBIRDS?**

_Danny Fenton and Samantha Manson: Love at first sight finally bearing fruit!_

"What…?" She whispers. Danny stares at the page in a mixture of confusion, horror, and something else…unreadable.

Tucker snickers, "Aw, caught in the act. How adorable!"

"Hey, lovebirds!" someone shouts from down the hall.

"We are not lovebirds!" the two respond in unison.

Sam snatches the article from Tucker, scanning through the actual contents. There is little more than mention of her transfer last year and Danny's tendency to disappear.

"The article doesn't even match the picture," she snorts.

"Well, I suppose that's the main draw when the two people _in_ that picture are notorious loners," Tucker shrugs.

She crumples it up and stuffs it into her bag, "Yeah, whatever."

-BREAK-

"So when did your eyes first meet?" the blond girl inquires, "It was Mr. Lancer's class, right?"

"What are you doing?" Sam asks between bites of celery.

"I'm getting an interview," she replies simply, "I mean, that article was just…_sad_. We're doing a follow-up."

"Why do you care?" she snorts, "Aren't we the unpopular table?"

"Yeah, but…you weren't a loser until you started sitting with _them_. So, like…why?"

"Because I wanted to."

"So…because you liked Danny and wanted to sit by him," she smiles.

"No–"

"She and I locked eyes in the hallway before class. She saw me skipping out," Danny interrupts, "I was a little unsettled because I didn't recognize her," he sits in the seat between her and the interviewer.

Tucker just snickers and shakes his head.

"Do you recall what _exact_ thoughts went through your head at the time?" she presses.

"I think it was a mix of 'Oh, crap, she saw me,' and 'who is she, anyway?'"

"So when did you start dating?"

"We're not," he replies simply, "We're just friends."

"What?!"

"What friend wouldn't keep another from smashing her skull open on icy pavement?"

"Don't you think she's pretty?"

Sam bites her cheek, trying to avoid looking interested in his answer. She feels his eyes lock on her for a moment.

"…I'd be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind," he answers quietly, entirely serious.

The interviewer leans around Danny, "And what about you, do you find him attractive-?"

Sam's already gone, depositing her lunch into the trash can. The bell rings, signaling the end of Lunch Period.

Danny leaps from his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Thanks," Sam smiles, "I don't like answering questions."

"I know," he grins, "what are friends for?"

They walk in comfortable silence for a moment, until Sam prepares herself with a deep breath, "…did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Of course I do," he replies quietly, and she can see the slightest hint of color in his skin.

"Then again, we _are_ guys," Tucker interrupts, throwing an arm over the shoulders of the other two, "We might just be attracted to nearly _anything_ with a pair of–"

"_Tuck_," Danny cuts sharply, "Ignore him, Sam."

"I try."

-BREAK-

She pulls the newspaper from her backpack, smoothing out the crumpled photograph. She cuts it from the text and tapes it to her mirror.

"Not girly at all, Sam," she snorts, "It doesn't look like you're hopelessly in love with Danny Fenton."

-BREAK-

_"__So…I hear your family moved to Amity Park,"_ _Marissa comments politely – not because she actually cares, but because it's the polite thing to do. To be honest, Marissa wasn't a _friend_, but she hadn't been an _enemy_ either. _

_She was bearable._

_The ballroom is crowded full of designer dresses and tailored tuxes, all of them chatting and no one actually dancing to the orchestra in the corner. That's how these parties are – just an opportunity to show off and make business deals._

_"__Yeah, we did," Sam replies politely._

_"__Have you seen any ghosts?" she leans forward – okay, so maybe she _does care, _a little._

_"__Of course," Sam snorts, "They have a _time slot_ on local television for televised ghost fights. They're _that_ frequent."_

_"__Wow...have you been near one?"_

_"__Yeah. One time there was a ghost between me and the school's safe zones," she shrugs, "A ghost named Ember. There was a phase where everyone adored her, remember? The singer?"_

_"__You met Ember McLain?!" she gasps._

_"__No, I _almost_ met Ember. I was trying to hide from her at the time. It's a good thing Danny was there."_

_"…__Danny? Who's Danny?"_

_"__My friend," she replies simply, enjoying the way the words feel on her tongue. Nevertheless, there's a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach._

_"_You_…have a _friend_," Marissa raises a perfectly-plucked eyebrow, "…Wow."_

_"__I have two," Sam defends, "Danny and Tucker."_

_"__Double wow," she shakes her head, "_Please_ tell me you have pictures. I have to see what kind of people would hang out with someone as…_anti-social_ as you."_

_Sam removes her phone from her clutch purse and scrolls through her gallery. She finds a picture of the three of them she'd taken at the Nasty Burger and hands it over._

_"__Wow…so who's who?"_

_"__Danny, Tuck," she points at each one._

_"__They're cute," she smirks, "Friends, huh? With bennies?"_

_"__No!" Sam hisses, snatching the phone, "Just…friends."_

_"__Oh my gosh," she laughs, "The Goth has fallen in love. Which one?"_

_"__What makes you say that?"_

_"__It's Danny, isn't it? So what's he like?"_

_"__I'm not in love with Danny!" she whispers vehemently._

_"__You totally are," Marissa insists, "So what kind of person is he?"_

_Sam shakes her head, "He's nice. I mean, I didn't think so when I first met him – actually, he scared the crap out of me–"_

_"_He_ scared _you_?"_

_"__I just saw him in the hallway. He looked roughed up – I learned later that it was because Dash was beating on him – and he wasn't in a good mood. I locked eyes with him and I got a shiver up my spine. When he gets mad, they're...they're like ice, but you can feel a ferocious animal snarling behind them."_

_"__Who's Dash?"_

_"__Quaterback. Thug. Bully."_

_"__Ah. So Danny's the loser they pick on?"_

_"__He lets them do it to keep them away from the others," Sam snorts, "Danny could throw Dash across the hallway if he wanted to. I've seen him heft a pack _full_ of ecto-weapons with less effort than it takes me to carry a gallon of milk."_

_"__Is the bullying bad there?"_

_"__Yeah, actually, it is," Sam agrees, "I mean, we have the thug wannabes here. They threaten you with crap like their gang coming to your house or jumping you. We laugh and ignore them, most of the time. But in Amity, they don't threaten. I've seen Dash whale on him, and he doesn't pull his punches."_

_"__And no one stops it?"_

_"__Dash has Kwan on lookout duty, and the other students just let it happen because he's one of the A-Listers. If they defy him, they'll get demoted to loser. Danny's the only person who's actually done anything about it. Granted, Danny's way of dealing with most things is making himself the target. According to Tucker, it was so bad before Danny started intervening that one of the other kids was going to commit suicide. Danny talked him out of it and started mouthing off to Dash to make himself the prime target."_

_"__Why not tell the teachers?"_

_"__They let him get away with it. If they punish him, he can't play, and they _can't_ have _that_. _Danny_, on the other hand… No, _Danny_ is a delinquent. _Danny_ always skips class, and then makes it up later. _Danny_ has no future," she snorts, "He's only been _saving people's lives_, truly irredeemable."_

_Marissa snorts, "He sounds like your perfect boyfriend."_

_"__We're not dating!"_

_"__You should be."_

_A part of her imagines what it would be like to date Danny. His cold hand engulfing her own, his smile blinding her daily, his lips against her own, his eyes locked with hers, his abs beneath her fingertips…_

_"__Someone just had a pretty hot little vision there," Marissa smirks, "Come on, Sam. You like him. You think he's totally hot, and I'd totally agree – he's a little skinny for my taste, but…" she shrugs, "When you get to Amity Park, you should totally lay one on him and see how he reacts."_

-BREAK-

"And instead, I sit here, pinning a photo on my mirror and wishing," she snorts, "I can't believe I'm pining for him. Why don't I just ask him out?!...because I'm afraid of ruining our friendship," she answers.

Someone knocks tentatively at her door, "Sammy?" it opens a second later, her mother brushing over, "We're going to be having some guests toni–" her eyes lock onto the photo, "What is that?"

"I slipped on some ice in the parking lot," she explains tersely, "Danny caught me, and someone at school got a picture of it and put it in the school newspaper."

"Danny…?"

She winces inwardly, "Danny Fenton."

"The ghost hunters' kid?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know him?"

Sam takes a deep breath. She hasn't mentioned her friends to her parents – especially Danny. She does what she always does when they ask her about school; she shrugs, says 'It's school,' and hints at nothing else.

She's been dreading this day.

"He's a friend," she answers, "I hung out with him and Tuck all Winter Break," _make it casual, like she should already know this, _"He's the one who gives me a ride to school, remember?"

"You told me you were getting a ride with a friend," she frowns.

"Danny _is_ a friend. He realized that our house is only one street away from his normal route to school, so…"

"I thought…" she works her jaw, "I thought your friend would be…you know…"

"A fellow Goth?"

"A girl," she corrects.

"I don't like sitting with the girls," she begins, seeing her mother's exasperated expression in response, "I _tried_, okay?! They just sit there and gossip about who's going out with who and who's hot and who looks like she got run over by a truck that day!"

"So you sit with…?"

"Danny and Tuck."

"Tuck?"

Sam sighs, "Tucker Foley."

"…anyone else?"

"No," she groans, "No, it's just the three of us. Danny and Tuck tend to keep to themselves and so do I, so when I just joined their group…"

"Three loners being alone together," Pamela snorts.

"Yeah, but I'm okay with that. I don't _need_ or even _want _a ton of friends. Two are just fine. Perfect, even."

"And they're…just friends…?" she looks again at the photo, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Sam nods firmly.

"…do you wish it were more?"

"Maybe?" she squeaks honestly.

"Sammy…"

"You're always telling me to be like other girls!" Sam shouts, sensing the oncoming storm, "I have a crush on Danny, I think he's attractive, and nice, and brave, and that I've totally been friend-zoned!" she finishes in a groan.

"But…Fenton?" Pamela grimaces, "What about Baxter?"

"Yeah, the school bully? The guy who thinks he's God's Gift to women?" Sam snorts, "He's an arrogant idiot who has a superiority complex because the school lets him get away with _everything_. You want me to crush on _that_ instead of the guy who _protects everyone else?!_"

"There are other families, _normal_ families," Pamela pushes.

"So, what, you want me to alienate Danny because his parents are a little eccentric?" Sam sneers, "Jack and Maddie are _super_ nice! Besides," she begins, "can you really call them _abnormal_ now that the existence of ghosts has been _proven_?!"

"Sammy–"

"No, you know what?" Sam sighs, "I'm done with this conversation. We're having guests, right? I'll just go downstairs long enough to get food and then come back up here."

"You have to–"

"No, I'm really not in the mood. Just…leave me alone."

-BREAK-

"Sammy…" her father whispers quietly, sitting on her bed.

"What?"

"Your mother is a raging wreck downstairs," he laughs, "Mind if I hide in here?"

"…make yourself at home," she answers. He kicks off his shoes and leans back against her headboard, "So…Danny Fenton?"

"Yeah."

"Let me see," he lifts his hand, "The picture your mother saw."

She plucks it from her mirror and hands it to him. He scans it calmly, "Nice catch."

"_I_ certainly thought so," she finds herself smiling, "I think _he_ noticed I was slipping before _I_ did."

"Probably," he laughs, "Take it from me – when we have a girl next to us, we tend to notice if she's about to fall – usually because we can't keep our eyes off of her."

"I wish," she huffs, leaning against the headboard beside him, "I'm pretty sure I've been friend-zoned."

He snorts – not a common reaction from the usually elegant Jeremy Manson, "Yeah, right. Sammy, if a guy puts a girl in the friend zone, it's rare for him to be against her upgrading to girlfriend. Does he already have a girl he likes? Have you ever caught him staring at someone, or flirting with other girls?"

"…no…"

"You're not doomed," he smirks, "In fact, you may not have caught it because he probably watches _you_ when your head is turned."

"…right…" she answers skeptically.

"I'm telling the truth," he defends, "I'm a guy. It's been a while since I was in the dating circuit, obviously," he smirks, "But there are some things that don't change. Trust me."

"Why are you encouraging me? Mom _hates_ him, and she hasn't even met him," she pouts.

"Because your mother worries about appearance, if you haven't noticed. I'm far more concerned with _what kind_ of person my daughter likes. I've met Jack and Maddie Fenton. They're…eccentric, but pretty nice people. I ran in to them at a city council meeting. Your mother was at home, nursing her migraine."

"They are really nice," she smiles, "Maddie can bake some _awesome_ cookies."

"I'd suggest having the family over sometime, but I don't think I could talk your mother into that."

"Probably not."

"…feeling better?"

"Yeah," she smiles, "Thanks, Dad."

-BREAK-

There's a knock at her window. Her eyes dart to her clock, _who would be knocking on my window at two in the morning?_ She tentatively stands, approaching her window. A silhouette waits beyond her curtain, which she peers around cautiously, soon sweeping it away.

Danny kneels in the snow – a night flurry – on her roof. Blood leaks into his eye from a cut just within his hairline. He smiles sheepishly as she cracks the window, "Hey, Sam," he pants, "I, uh…I need some help."

"How did you get up here?" she whispers, looking at the undisturbed rooftop.

"I have my ways," he evades, "I have a question…how are your medical skills?"

"I don't really know…"

"I'd ask Tuck, but he fainted last time…" he winces as he shifts his balance, "…he can handle the occasional cut and stuff, but this…and I can't reach it myself…"

"But what?" she cranes around, but he shifts again.

"I'll be okay by noon, it's just…right now…"

"Danny," she hisses, "Just get in here. The air outside is freezing!"

"I'm worried about getting blood on your carpet," he winces.

She stares at him for a second, "Danny…let me see."

He sighs, gripping his shirt by the hem and whipping it off in a single, fluid motion. She can see a large, dark stain on the cloth in his hand, and blood smears follow its path. He finally turns, revealing three deep claw marks.

"I haven't taken a hit like this since Sophomore year," he frowns, "But there was a pack of them. Caught me off guard."

Her heart pounds in her ears, drowning his voice out. Her eyes are locked on the gashes in his back. Then his abs. Then the gashes again – really, her eyes need to decide where to look.

"Danny, we need to get you inside," she manages to stutter, "You have to be _freezing_ without a coat…why don't you have one, anyway?" _And why did you have to take your shirt off to show me…why isn't it torn?_

"But–"

"My bathroom's right over here. If you hurry, I doubt we'll get any blood on my carpet. It's black, anyway. It'll be easy to hide. Just be quiet, my parents will kill us both if they find out. They'll probably file a restraining order or something, at the least."

"Joy," he whispers, slipping easily through the window and to the tiled floor of the bathroom. He does so with only the slightest wince, almost undetectable. He's carrying a first-aid kit.

"Good, because I'm not sure I have one," she clenches her trembling fingers.

"I wouldn't expect you to," he laughs softly, seating himself of the floor, "This is a _huge_ bathroom, by the way. Like…I could fit my bed in here."

"You should see the closet," she laughs back, kneeling behind him.

"So…Take this, these, and scrub. Don't worry about being a little rough. It's better than getting infected. Thankfully, they're pretty clean cuts, so that'll make things easier. Do you know how to use butterfly bandages?"

"I think so."

"They'll work better than stitches for my back," he explains, "Besides, as I said, I'll probably have nothing more than a scar by noon – some pretty nasty scars, but scars."

"How?"

"Secret," he smiles back.

She begins to dab gently at the injuries, taking deep breaths to still her shaking hands. Her eyes scan the rest of his back, his arms…small scars dot them, some almost completely faded away. A burn scar adorns his shoulder.

"…What's that?" he whispers, and she follows his line of sight. Her stomach plummets.

_The photo._

"You kept it?" he smirks.

"Y-yeah," she replies, trying to sound casual – and failing.

"It's a pretty good photo, to be honest."

"Yeah," she continues to clean the cuts, "You know…Danny…"

"Yeah, Sam?"

She shakes her head, "Nevermind. It's nothing."

He snorts, "Yeah, because when a girl says it's nothing, it really _is_ nothing. What's wrong?"

"Besides the fact that I'm having to tape my best friend back together?"

"Yeah, besides that," he answers solemnly.

"…So, you think I'm pretty," she confirms again.

"Y-yeah," she can see the blush rise to his cheeks.

"Has it ever occurred to you that…" She takes a deep breath.

"That…?"

"…that I find you attractive too?" she finishes quietly, "Sorry, I know we're just friends, but–"

Cold lips find her own, a matching hand tracing her jaw. Her mind screeches to a halt. Her eyes glance over at the mirror.

Danny is kissing her.

_Danny_ is _kissing her_.

_Danny is kissing me,_ she realizes. She allows her eyes to slip closed, and she melts into his kiss. It doesn't last long, but leaves her heart pounding against her ribcage.

They separate, Danny's eyes boring into hers. Suddenly, they widen, and the blood rushes to his face, "I…um…"

She kisses him. Again.

He makes a surprised noise, but his free hand wraps around her waist, pulling her against his chest. When she opens her eyes again, they meet his. The icy blue depths seem to shine, and she'd almost swear that green flickers through the irises.

"You should be careful, Sam," he whispers breathlessly, "My impulses might overwhelm me."

Her stomach flip-flops at the little growl on the edge of his voice.

"Let's finish patching you up first," she coughs, glancing down at the hand on her waist.

Danny drops his hand and turns his back to her once again.

"So…um…are we a thing now?" she asks nervously.

"If you're okay with that," he rubs at the back of his neck.

"I think I am," she smiles.

The smile she gets in return sends a wave of warmth all the way to her toes.


	9. High School AU 3 - Reveal

**A/N: Final part of the High School AU! …I think. Anyway, to answer some comments from last time:**

**The reason Sam and Danny get together quicker (about 3 months) than the original series is because in Middle School, you don't think about who you're going to date. (Or, you didn't when the show originally came out…now is probably a bit different.) Anyway, they'd been friends for a long time and weren't sure if they wanted to risk it. However, someone you meet in high school, you are far more likely to think about dating them. (Maybe that's just my opinion, however.) Anyway, they met at an age where they would think about dating, as opposed to Middle School, when they were just trying to get friends at all.**

Shot #9: High School AU Finale: Reveal

She coughs, trying to swipe the dust away from her face. Diffused light leaks through a shattered windowpane. As her heartbeat subsides, she can begin to make out the distant sound of screams. Alarms blare far overhead. Her legs shake – or is it the ground? She can't tell.

"What happened?" she wonders aloud, her voice echoing in her ears.

She and Danny had watched a movie, and met with Tucker at the mall's food court a second ago, right? She can still smell Tucker's meat-stuffed barbeque sandwich. They'd been talking…

…Danny got up, _that_ look on his face, and took off. Tucker followed him with a backpack…and then everything collapsed.

Right on top of them.

"Danny!" she screams, glancing at the rubble around her wildly, "Tucker?!"

"Sam?" Tucker appears, a dark silhouette in front of the window to her back, "you're okay?"

"Y-yeah, kind-of," she answers. The hole in the rubble between them is too small – maybe she can climb out–"

"Just…stay where you are," he pants. A large gash bleeds from his shoulder, "It's probably safest to just…stay there."

"What about Danny?"

"He's fine. Mostly. Just…don't try anything crazy."

"I could use a little help here, Tuck!" She hears Danny shout in the distance, his voice resonating oddly – probably a result of the noise from the collapse.

"On it!" Tucker replies, looking at her again, "Stay, Sam. Just…stay _right there_," he dashes out of sight, and she can hear the sound of an ecto-pistol.

Sam stares at the window for a few seconds before deciding it's been long enough. She jogs to the opening and begins to climb, ignoring the way the concrete digs at her hands.

"Oh, yeah, Sam, just stay _right there _ and let us do all the work," she snorts, "As _if_, technogeek!" She hauls herself over, slipping down to the tile floor. She steps cautiously around the rubble, until she can see what's happening.

Phantom hovers far overhead, standing face-to-face with another ghost on horseback. Violet flames wreath his helmet, and a glowing green sword is clasped in one hand.

"Hand over the crown that thou hast, or this day shall be your last," The Fright Knight booms.

Phantom replies, though with what, she can only guess.

Though she can accurately guess that it had something to do with the word 'no'.

The knight swoops to attack, his sword slicing towards the other ghost. The sound of steel meeting steel rings – or rather, steel meeting ice. The other, smaller, ghost parries the attack, lunging for his opponent.

After several moments of swordplay, the Fright Knight raises a hand, and smaller ghosts begin to converge around his enemy. Phantom blasts them away, but doesn't see the wrecking-ball-sized orb of ectoplasm speeding his way.

"Watch out!" Sam screams, and he turns just in time for it to slam into him, plowing him to the floor in a burst of light and heat she can feel through her jeans. When she opens her eyes, Phantom rests at the center of a crater a few yards away. He struggles to lift himself on shaking arms, collapsing a second later.

The Fright Knight laughs, "Your arrogance will cost you your life, Young Phantom. Then again, I suppose you only had half of it to give to begin with."

Bright rings form around the ghost's waist, but disappear when he clenches a white-gloved fist.

"I'm not going to be beaten…by the likes of _you_," he growls.

_That voice._

_It _can't_ be._

He lifts his head, revealing a pair of green eyes behind scruffy white hair. He wipes away a trail of ectoplasm from his lips, "Some _parasite_ who can never act by himself. You require a king to order you. Plasmius still pulling your chain, or did you find someone else?"

_It _can't _be._

The knight doesn't answer, instead drawing his sword. The swarm of ghosts from earlier swirls overhead, waiting to descend.

"…Danny?" she whispers. The acid-green eyes whip her direction, and he goes completely still.

"You know this woman, whelp?" the Fright Knight inquires, "Perhaps, then, I can give you a more suitable lesson."

"Sam…run," Danny Phantom coughs, struggling to his knees.

"Danny…you're…how…?" she's rooted to the spot.

It all makes sense. The cold skin, the vanishing act, the secretive smiles, the rapid healing…why no one's ever seen Danny Fenton fight a ghost. As she stares into his eyes, she wonders how no one has seen it – they look _exactly the same_.

_No,_ she realizes, _there is one crucial difference._

Danny Fenton doesn't carry himself like a hero. He slouches and fiddles, seldom dropping his wall of timidity. Phantom stands straight and tall, with a confident grin on his face. Arrogant, even. Fenton may sneer, he may grin sweetly, but he _never_ stands with confidence. Phantom fights almost daily, more than once. He has tight muscles and fast reflexes. Fenton fails gym.

Fenton is human.

Phantom is a ghost.

Heat blares in her face, and a hand wraps around her throat. Her eyes move from their transfixed spot on the floor to lock with the red slits within the helmet. She tries to struggle, to kick at him, but his armor shrugs it off.

"Let her go," Danny coughs, spilling more ectoplasm to the floor. As he tries to lift himself from the floor, she can see where a piece of rebar, sent flying by the blast, has pierced his abdomen.

"So you care for her, Halfling?" the Fright Knight laughs, "how interesting. I wonder…what would happen if I squeezed a little harder?" his grip tightens at his words, and her breath rasps against her throat.

"Let. Her. Go," Danny growls, his eyes flashing angrily.

"This fear," the Knight Laughs, "I haven't felt something this potent since the plagues. A magnificent feast of fear, that!"

Sam can feel something pulsing in the air, thick and hot. It causes her heartbeat to spike, and her fingers to shake. Her captor doesn't seem to notice, however, as his grip tightens a little more.

"I _said_…" Danny begins, lifting his head. His eyes burn red, and he vanishes in an instant. The hand is torn away from her throat, and the Fright Knight sails through the wall. Strong arms wrap around her shoulders, _"Let her go."_

Fury rolls from his words, slamming into her instincts. It's the same as that moment in the hallway.

_Run_, the voice in her mind whimpers, _run._

His red eyes swivel down to her, and a cold, gloved finger traces her throat – the bruises on it, she realizes – gently.

"How _dare _he," Danny hisses, the rage building.

"D-d-danny?" she breathes.

"Yes, Sam?"

"Are you…are you okay?"

"I will be," he assures, "After I tear him limb-from-limb. Next time, someone will think twice about touching what I've claimed," he presses his lips to her forehead, "Just…rest. Everything will be okay when you wake."

She feels something tug at the back of her mind, and her eyelids become heavy. She can't keep them open, but she can feel him gently lower her to the floor, and sense the energy of a ghost shield being placed above her.

"Da…"

-BREAK-

"-it Danny! You almost got yourself killed! I _knew_ I should've called Valerie!"

"And said _what_, exactly?" Danny retorts, "'Hey, Val, we know you're a sled-riding ghost hunter, and we've always known that Vlad was using you and didn't tell you, but we need your help?!'"

"We could explain about her sled later," Tucker argues, "But The Fright Knight is an even match for you, when sufficiently motivated. You give him an army of ghosts, a surprise attack when you're recovering from a poison attempt – which I'm beginning to think he _probably_ orchestrated – and you _need help_. More than I can give, Danny. I was a bit overwhelmed with his little minions!"

"It worked out in the end," Danny defends weakly.

"Yeah. You got a piece of rebar to the gut that I'm pretty sure barely missed your artery, a probable concussion…Oh, a few of your ribs are broken, and then there's that nasty burn on your shoulder – but, hey, at least once it scars up, it'll match the other one, right? Finally, what used to be the food court of the mall is now an ice rink."

"Danny?" she mutters weakly, slowly prying her eyes open and trying to sit up. His hand rests on her back, stabilizing her.

"Slow, Sam, slow," he laughs, "Give it a second to wear off."

They sit in a living room, the old furniture covered in dust sheets.

"Where are we?" she asks.

"An abandoned house a few blocks from the mall," Tucker replies, "Several years ago, this block of buildings was scheduled to be demolished, but there was a huge war of red tape…everyone's forgotten about it. We crash here sometimes after fights."

"So…" she takes a deep breath, "I need to know, Danny. Everything."

Danny removes his hand from her back, sitting cross-legged beside her position on the floor.

"That's a lot," he whispers.

"Start with the fact that you're a ghost."

"Half," he corrects, "I'm _half_ ghost."

"How can you be half-dead?!"

"When something fills the void of death," he whispers, "It happened just before freshman year. My parents made the ghost portal, but it didn't work. I don't know why I went inside. I guess I figured that it didn't work. It was harmless," he sneers, "Until I tripped and got zapped with the entirety of the ghost zone. I can still feel it when I think about it, Sam. My muscles seizing, my heart clamping in my chest; my lungs, paralyzed, filling with blood," his eyes glow green, casting an eerie shadow over his face, "I could feel _everything_. I know that it only lasted for a moment, but it felt like _hours_."

"I still have nightmares," Tucker confesses quietly, "I can hear Danny's scream. It was awful, Sam."

"The energy of the Ghost Zone was in that blast," Danny continues, "Death is the absence of life. Ecto-energy is more like…anti-life. That energy filled the hole left behind by the life I'd lost; but not all of my life was gone. The ecto-energy revived me. At least…that's what I _think _happened. I'm not an ecto-science major, though."

Her fingers tighten into the thin wool blanket they'd wrapped her in, "So, you're…"

He takes one of her hands and places it on his chest. After a moment, she feels a single thump, and eventually another.

"It's a bit slower than usual," he laughs, "But it's still there, Sam."

She can see the pain in his eyes, the hesitation. He's afraid, his skin trembling beneath her fingertips. He's waiting for her to shove him away and run.

"My boyfriend," she sniffs, unable to hide her tears, "The half-dead superhero."

He relaxes, "Yeah. That's me. Danny Fenton, only half a life left, and no potions to be found."

**A/N: Sam probably takes this better than expected, but...this is how it's going.**


	10. Jazz's College Life: Name

**A/N: J.O.S. Continuum. Here's some Christmas fluff! Yay! Jazz x Ghost Writer…we still need to come up with a shipping name for them. Enjoy! This is placed during the Christmas after Adrift. I wanted to write a Christmas one-shot, so I realized that I hadn't revealed how Jazz learned Ghost Writer's name. Enjoy!**

Shot #10: Jazz's College Life: Name

Jazz sips at her hot chocolate, glancing at the snow beyond her apartment windows. She pulls her fleece throw tighter around her shoulders. She sits cross-legged in front of her television, which plays a recording of a fire along with some Christmas music. A large book lays in her lap.

Her eyes catch the calendar on the wall – Christmas Eve. Four days until her final roommate, Lisa, moves out. She's getting married a week after she moves out, and she's about to move in with her soon-to-be husband. Allie had moved after Thanksgiving – she'd quit school and returned to her hometown. She'd since become a hair stylist, and seemed pretty happy in her e-mails.

"You look troubled," someone comments, almost causing her to spill her coffee.

She turns her head to the couch, locking eyes with Ghost Writer. He's dressed as almost as usual, his grey scarf wrapped a little more tightly around his neck, and his purple coat buttoned, "Ghost Writer?"

"I found the book you were looking for," he lifts the tome in his hand, its leather cover faded and scuffed, "I'd had it out about four months ago, but Skulker chased some of his prey into my library and I finally found it kicked beneath a desk."

"You didn't have to bring it to me," she comments, taking it from his cold hand, "I would've gotten it when I dropped this one off."

"You said your project was due this week. I wasn't sure when you'd be back and wanted to make sure this got to you in time," he scratches at his trimmed goatee, "I probably needed a little bit of a break anyway."

"Writer's block?" she asks.

"Yes. Even I short out occasionally. This author," he snorts, "He had only the vaguest ideas of what he wanted, and it was as convoluted as possible. I'm exhausting myself trying to work out how everything connects and makes any sense."

"…want some hot chocolate?"

"…I don't want to impose–"

"Don't worry about it," she laughs, marking her page, "Let me get you some. Maybe I can help you out. You've helped me out a ton, after all. It'd be nice to return the favor," she smiles a little, "Give me just a second."

Ghost Writer leans back into the couch and takes a deep breath. It's been a long time since he last left his library – besides his little excursion to Walker's prison. He'd been disappointed to find that the little café he'd frequented in his youth was long gone. He'd had to make do with the more popular Starbucks. Thankfully, there was some sort of convention nearby, so he didn't even have to attempt to hide his ghostly aura or mask his appearance. An exhausting trick he'd rather not have to use.

"Here," Jazz smiles, handing him a mug carefully, offering a candy-cane, "Do you want mint?"

"I would love some," he smiles, taking it carefully from her delicate fingers and using it to stir his hot chocolate.

Jazz seats herself on the other end of the couch, "So did you come through the Fenton Portal and fly all the way here?"

He laughs, "Miss Fenton, I can warp the fabric of reality. You don't think I can open a portal at the entrance of your apartment building?"

"You must be pretty powerful. Danny only recently learned how to tear holes into the Ghost Zone."

He shrugs, "I think it's less a matter of power and more a matter of abilities. I can't freeze something – not immediately, anyway. I have to provide a set of circumstances to explain why something happens. If I already had ice, I could probably expand it. I can't _create_ things. I can only manipulate what already exists. There was already a portal forming nearby; I simply told it where to drop me off."

She nods absently, pulling her legs onto the couch, curling them to her side, "I see. It's still pretty impressive."

"Thank you. I'd like to think I'm not exactly a pushover," he sips at his hot chocolate.

"Jazz, who are you…?" Lisa peers around the corner, rubbing at her eyes, "…talking…to…"

"Sorry, Lisa," Jazz laughs, "Did we wake you up?"

Ghost Writer glances at the clock, which reads eight-thirty. He furrows his eyebrows.

"No, I was already getting up. I should've woken up when my alarm went off. Working graveyard really knocks my circadian rhythm out, you know? Now I won't be able to sleep all night, which sucks, because I work seven-to-seven tomorrow."

Jazz winces, "Sorry. Oh, I should introduce you. This is Ghost Writer, the librarian of the Ghost Zone. Ghost Writer, this is Lisa, my roommate. She's getting married in…eleven days or so."

"Congratulations," he smiles graciously, "I wish you the best."

"Thank you," Lisa blushes softly, "It doesn't really feel real, you know? In four days, I move into a new house with him and we nail down the last few details for the reception…it's just happening so fast, and yet…"

"It's not coming fast enough," he smirks.

"Yeah," she laughs, sitting on the floor across from Ghost Writer and Jazz, forming something of a triangle.

"Life's like that," he comments quietly, almost wistfully.

"I'll be off to Amity tomorrow, and stay for a few days, then I'll be heading straight for her wedding," Jazz laughs, "Well…a few days early, to double-check my dress."

"Are you a bridesmaid?" Ghost Writer inquires.

"Yep," she laughs.

"My mom chose the dresses," Lisa grimaces, "The bridesmaid ones. I'm sorry, they're absolutely _awful_."

"Nonsense…" Jazz assures unconvincingly, "It's me. It clashes with my hair…"

"No, my mom just chose a _hideous_ shade of green, and we didn't have the funds to change it when I pitched a fit."

"I saw it on Marci. It looked pretty awesome."

"Olive green _would_ look good on Marci, because _Marci_ looks good in _everything_. I told Mom she couldn't base the dress on how it looked on her. She didn't listen to me…" she groans, "Jazz, it's going to be a disaster."

"No one will remember the bridesmaid dresses anyhow," Ghost Writer assures quietly, his calm voice cutting through her growing hysteria, "They'll only be looking at the bride and groom. Do _you_ like _your_ dress?"

"Yeah…"

"Then let your bridesmaids worry about _theirs_…though I must admit, I'm curious, Miss Fenton," he smirks, "about what this _hideous_ dress looks like."

Lisa stares at him for a moment, scanning his face, "You should come."

"…come…?"

"To the wedding," she explains, "It's not like Jazz has a date."

"Is that a _problem_?" Jazz hisses, "I've been _busy_, okay?"

"You need to get out, Jazz," she snorts.

Ghost Writer shifts uncomfortably, downing the rest of his hot chocolate in a scalding wave, "You know…I think I just figured out how to write that section I was stuck on and my fingers are itching to get home and type," he taps his foot impatiently, "Obsessions, you know. Might I trouble you for a little assistance in getting home, Miss Fenton?"

"Y-yeah," she smiles, taking the porta-portal from its place beside the television and calibrating it to his general area, "See you soon. Thanks for bringing it all the way here to me."

"Not a problem. I needed a little time out anyhow," he assures, stepping through the glowing circle of the portal, which winks out behind him. As soon as the portal is returned to its proper place, she whirls on Lisa.

"What are you _doing_?!"

"He's not bad looking, for a ghost. And you should have a date. You've been in college for...a little over two years now? You've _never_ had a date…well, not one I've known about. Then again, if you've been going to _his_ library…"

"I'm not dating Ghost Writer!" she hisses softly.

"I'm not saying you have to," she assures, "But if you want some company at the wedding that you can actually have a conversation with besides me…it'll be a _long_ wedding for you without him. I'm giving you permission to bring a ghost to my wedding, Jazz. Look at it a compensation for the dress."

"…I'll think about it."

-BREAK-

_He'll be up,_ she assures herself, glancing at her watch. Eleven-thirty. She's never up this late.

Chalk it up to Christmas.

She skips up the steps and opens one of the wooden double-doors carefully, "I can't believe I forgot it," she sighs, checking the little bag again, wondering if she bought the right gift, "He probably has it already anyway," she mutters halfheartedly.

The book from the store Sam had shown her peeks up at her through the tissue paper. It's old, but kept in good shape. The preface states that the author died – though it fails to specify how – before it was published. His family had found the book scribbled out on sheets of notebook paper and gotten a few copies published – though only a handful, enough for each family member to keep it in his memory. The Skulk and Lurk hadn't read the back, obviously, or they'd know they had one of six copies ever made. It'd sell for a fortune, and she'd picked it up for fifteen dollars.

_In Loving Memory of Cecil Crawford_

_November 13, 1937 – December 23, 1963_

It doesn't even have a title. Only the dedication is printed on the cover. The story within is one of a self-conscious, nervous, writer who gets into an automobile accident and finds himself thrown into a fantasy realm, where he meets a beautiful elven mercenary. She teaches him the way of their world, and they begin to travel together. As the years go by, the writer becomes a swordsman and it's revealed that he was prophesied to defeat an evil king. He nearly dies, but surmounts all odds and defeats the evil king…

…only to learn that he's been dead all along and that the world he was living in was the vivid dream that passed his eyes in his final breath. The last thing he sees is the last page of his novel, falling to the pavement as the car that hit him speeds away. His eyes lock on the little word in the bottom-corner of the page.

_Fin._

She'd loved it. The ending was painful, but she couldn't deny liking the twist. She hadn't seen it coming.

"I hope he likes it too," she whispers before raising her voice, "Ghost Writer?"

"Miss Fenton?" he questions, and she looks up, to where he leans against the banister, "Is something wrong?"

"No," she laughs, lifting the bag a little, "I just…forgot to give you your Christmas present."

"A Christmas present?" he floats down from above, "For me?"

"Yeah, Ghosts celebrate Christmas, after all."

"You didn't have to," he glances up at a clock on his wall, "You're not usually up this late, are you?"

She shrugs, "I was working on my paper when I looked over and saw that I'd left it sitting on my desk. I didn't even check the time," she lies. She'd laid in bed, ready to sleep, but the little sack had glared at her from across the room. It'd taken a few minutes to make herself presentable again.

"Well, I almost never sleep, so you never really have to. My doors are always open for you," he smiles, sipping at a cup of coffee. He reaches out with a hand, waiting for her to hand it over.

"Here, Merry Christmas, Ghost Writer," she smiles.

"…may I open it now?" he inquires, setting his mug on a table.

"Y-yeah, it's probably best that way," she agrees.

He carefully plucks away the tissue paper, pulling out the little novel.

"I enjoyed it, and wondered if you'd read it – I have a receipt if you have, so don't worry about–"

He's gone completely still, his eyes locked in shock at the little book.

"…Ghost Writer? …What's wrong?"

He jumps a little, "Nothing, I was just…"

She eyes him carefully.

"I was just silently snickering about your luck," he smirks, "and funny little coincidences. I thought that it was practically nonexistent nowadays."

"So you _are_ familiar with it," she groans, "Of _course_ you are."

"No," he laughs, waving his hands, "The _name_. Cecil. It's not a common name, so I haven't heard it in a long time…"

"Did you know someone named Cecil?" she asks, berating herself mentally, "Sorry, I asked before thinking–"

"–it was my name," he answers quietly, "_Is_ my name," he traces the cover softly.

"I…" she swallows thickly, watching his distant eyes, "Ghost Writer, I–"

"–Cecil," he corrects, "Could you please…? It's…It's been a long time since I've heard anyone…Randy doesn't remember me. He was so little when I…"

"…Cecil," she smiles, "If I call you by your name, you call me by mine."

"Miss Fenton–"

"–Jazz."

"Jasmine, then," he relents, his eyes shining with threatening tears, "Thank you. I couldn't have asked for anything better for Christmas."

She sweeps him into a hug, "You're welcome, Cecil."

**A/N: Tadaa!**

**(In case you were wondering, Ghost Writer is his ****_title_****, not his name…in my 'verse, anyway.)**


	11. Jazz's College Life: Wedding

**A/N: A follow up to the last chapter. :D Yeah, Lisa's wedding! **

**As a reminder, I've been running a campaign for a while on a shipping name for Jazz x Ghost Writer. The "Official List" has it as "Classic Cliché". Which doesn't work, in my opinion. Here are suggestions we've gotten in the past: Literary Analysis, Poetic Insight, Therapeutic Prose, Turquoise Scarf, Brainy Author, Therapeutic literature, Psychoanalytic Poetry, Psychology Writer, and Turquoise Calligraphy. Tell me your pick, or if you have another one that comes to mind! **

**I kind of like: Literary Analysis, Poetic Insight, Therapeutic Prose, and Turquoise Calligraphy. **

**Now for my obligatory addition to the option list – I've set a rule that I have to try and add to it every time I mention it, at least until we get one cemented. How about…Library Love? (JK.)**

Chapter #11: Jazz's College Life – Wedding

"I can't believe it!" Lisa giggles, "Two hours, Jazz! _Two hours!_"

"Two hours, and you'll be Lisa Harlock," she smiles, adjusting the bow on the one shoulder strap.

It's awful.

"I hope you realize how good of a friend I am, Lisa," she sighs, looking at her reflection. The dress is _awful_. It's more brown than olive green, which isn't helped by the shimmering satin material. The balloon skirt falls to about four inches above her knee. The big, floppy bow on the shoulder isn't looking any better, no matter how she fiddles with it.

"I'm sorry," Lisa winces.

"I don't have a problem with it," Marci comments, plucking Jazz's fingers away from the bow, "Stop fiddling, and it'll be fine."

"Of course _you_ don't have a problem with it," she mutters.

Marci is tall and leggy, with olive skin and shiny black hair. She looks like a model. Jazz can't help but think of Paulina Sanchez when looking at her. Marci's more…put-together, however.

"So…I hear you might have a date, Jazz," she smiles, beginning to pull the bridesmaid's orange locks into braids, "A _ghost_ date?"

"He might not show up," Jazz feels heat flush her cheeks, "Lisa extended the invitation. I just told him where it was, in case he needs to contact me. He doesn't have a phone. No service in the Infinite Realms."

"You know…" she muses, "I've noticed you almost never call it the Ghost Zone."

"That's not it's proper name," Jazz sniffs, "Sometimes I say it out of habit, but I try to refer to it correctly."

"Hmm…" she nods absently, "So, Lisa told me a little. He's some sort of…ghost librarian?"

"He has a library, and he lets others read through his collection," she answers. _I don't need to tell her that only Clockwork and I can take books _out_ of the library, right?_

"She said he's cute," she smiles.

"He is," Lisa smiles, "Tall, kinda thin. Messy black hair, short goatee, green eyes. Looks like he hasn't slept in a long time, though."

"He probably hasn't," Jazz mutters.

"And he has pointed ears," she finishes with a grin.

"Really?" Marci gasps, "So he's an elf?"

"His skin is grey, so he's a dark elf."

"So Jazz is dating a ghostly, dark-elf librarian?" she laughs, "That is _so_ perfect!"

"He's not a dark elf, you nerds," Jazz teases, "and I'm not dating him!"

"Yeah, because a guy you're _not_ dating would show up in your apartment on Christmas Eve at eight-thirty in the evening," she scoffs.

"He's _so_ into you," Rachel grins broadly, fixing her hair in another mirror.

"He was dropping off a book I was looking for. I needed it for a paper."

"I can't wait to tell people that my sister had a _ghost_ at her wedding," she almost bounces in her seat. She's the youngest of the group, despite being the Maid of Honor, at age sixteen.

She remembers when Danny was that age – and he didn't have eyes like hers. They're unguarded, shining. Since she found out about his secret, she's felt as though Danny's eyes belonged on someone much older. There's an undertone of steel where there used to be stars.

It shoves a small needle into her heart.

She knows she's never had eyes like hers, either. She was swept up in being the reasonable adult of the household while her parents fiddled away in the lab. She wonders if both she and Danny grew up too fast.

"…Jazz?"

She starts, "Sorry, I was just thinking," she dismisses, waving off Lisa's concerned glance.

"Ooh," Rachel coos, "She's thinking about him."

"I wasn't," she defends, sobering.

The sixteen-year-old bounces off to a separate room, looking for something.

"…I just wonder if I grew up too quickly, you know?" she smiles as the empty seat, "Danny, too."

"I know what you mean," Marci ties off the ribbon in Jazz's hair, "I thought he was older than you when I first saw him."

"Really?" Lisa frowns pensively, "I didn't."

"You met Danny when he was in the middle of a snowball fight with Sam and Tucker," Jazz laughs, "Marci met him about four seconds before a ghost attack."

Marci nods, "Like…I'm sorry, Jazz, but there's just this weird vibe around your brother. Around Danielle too, actually. She seems _younger_ than she is, though, so it has nothing to do with that. Thing is, it's not like…" she fishes, "Danny's nice. He's the type of guy I could trust with my life, even with the short time I talked with him, but there's this feeling…like – don't take this the wrong way – you get this sense of…wrongness. Like, there's this voice in the back of your head telling you…" she struggles some more.

"…that he doesn't belong here," Jazz finishes in a whisper.

"Yeah…"

"I felt that too," Lisa confesses.

"It's okay. I've felt it too. It's been like that since…" she fades away, staring at her reflection in the mirror – Marci's done an amazing job on her hair.

"Since…?" Sarah, the final bridesmaid presses, speaking for the first time.

Jazz takes a deep breath, "Danny almost died towards the beginning of his Freshman year."

They gasp.

"I'm sorry, Jazz, I-I didn't know," Marci apologizes.

"It's okay, no one really knew. I didn't know until around the time for the C.A.T. I mean, I knew _something_ happened by Spirit Week, but I didn't get the story until then. My parents didn't know about it until about two years ago. It was just Sam, Danny, and Tucker for a while."

"Was it drugs? Did he almost…?"

"No!" Jazz waves her hands in denial, "No, nothing like that. He got electrocuted."

"Oh. My…" Marci shakes her head gently, so as not to disturb her curls, "and nobody found out?"

"It didn't leave much in the way of physical scars," Jazz shrugs, "Tuck and Sam tell me he was unconscious for a while, and a bit shaky, as though having aftershocks, but he was mostly okay by the time my parents got back. That's when that feeling started, though. It got even worse when I found out. It's like…I'd look at Danny and think that he looked…out-of-place. Like he wasn't supposed to be there."

"He wasn't supposed to survive," Lisa whispers.

"Maybe that's it," she sighs, "It's like…looking at a painting full of bright, vibrantly-colored flowers and then someone decides to add one in. From a distance, it fits, but then you get a closer look and realize that it's a slightly more muted shade of yellow, and that the strokes are different."

"That's _exactly_ what it's like," Marci agrees.

"Now I want to meet your brother," Sarah comments.

"Maybe you'll get the chance," Jazz smiles, "Maybe he'll let me invite you all to _his_ wedding next year."

Lisa almost drops her lipstick, "Wait, are Danny and Sam…?"

"Yeah, they're engaged."

"Tell him congrats!" she smiles, "I _knew_ they'd end up together."

"You and the rest of Amity Park," she laughs.

"Isn't he a bit young for that, though?" Marci takes charge of Lisa's eyeshadow, "He's what…?"

"Eighteen, right now," she answers, "Yeah, but…you don't go through the crap they do and not love each other, you know?"

"What kind of crap?" she frowns.

"This past Spring Break, they were taken hostage by pirates," she answers, "Before that, they were trapped in the Infinite Realms and Danny almost died – again. Even before that, Danny was working secretly to keep Vlad Masters from killing my dad, and Sam's had to patch him up for _everything_," her voice has fallen to a whisper, "Danny has a tendency to get himself in trouble, so I think they're so eager to get married because…"

"Because they're afraid he won't be around forever," Lisa whispers.

"Again, you've hit a bulls-eye," Jazz blinks back tears, "His hero complex is going to get him killed."

They continue in sober silence as she forces down the anxiety.

"Enough about me and Danny," she grins, "It's your big day, Lisa!"

-BREAK-

He phases in just before the beginning of the ceremony, leaning against the back corner. He checks over his appearance once again, inwardly grimacing. He knows that he's hardly in wedding attire, but his decision to attend was…sudden…and he hardly has a suit on hand. He's a _ghost_, in the name of Eternity; he doesn't get invited to formal occasions.

He's made do with cleaning his purple coat and changing from his usual grey t-shirt to a white collared shirt. His grey scarf is tucked into his coat, which is buttoned over it. He's combed his hair, for once, though it still has a mildly tousled look. He wonders whether to mask his ghostly appearance or not.

He makes eye contact with Jazz, concentrating his energy on the image in his head for a moment, clamping down on his core, stifling its heat a little. His grey skin fades to a more human shade, and his ghostly glow fades. He cocks his head questioningly to Jazz, _should I do this?_

She blinks in surprise, but he can see the slightest shrug of her shoulders. He chuckles softly – he _knew_ what she'd say.

_Whatever you're comfortable with. Just be you._

He keeps it, for now. After all – what if someone decides to freak out in the middle of the ceremony? Lisa seems nice. There's no need to cause a scene at the biggest moment of her life. He nods in acknowledgement and takes a seat at the end of the nearest pew.

The older woman sitting there smiles, "Oh, are you a friend of the groom?" she smiles.

"No, actually," he laughs nervously, "I'm a friend of Lisa's. Well, a friend-of-a-friend, actually."

"Oh, the ginger?" she questions, "I noticed her looking over here."

"I was giving something to Miss Fenton a couple weeks ago and Lisa invited me."

"Oh, what were you giving her?"

"A book."

All interest falls from her face, and he winces inwardly. Admittedly, he's had another gift sitting in his study, hidden in his desk, since Christmas. It'd been in his pocket, but Lisa's interruption had ruined his plan for a more…casual gift. He'd lost the courage when she brought _his_ gift, which sits on his bedside table.

He redirects his attention to the front of the room, which is still preparing for the bride's entrance, the flower-girl making her slow walk to the front.

Jazz was right. The color is awful.

She still looks amazing.

He watches Lisa stride into the room before turning his eyes to the groom, ignoring the little pang in his chest. The young man looks like he's about to leap into the air and _fly_. Again, he feels the knife twist a little.

_Was there someone waiting for me?_ He wonders solemnly, _Or was I doomed from the beginning?_

He momentarily imagines himself standing in the groom's place – who would be his bride? He scans through the women he knew in life – Elaine Fitz and Miranda Sherman were probably to two closest to him.

Elaine was sweet and very pretty, but she'd had a crush on Henry Hardwick for as long as he could remember. There had been rumors that they were dating when he…well, that hardly matters anymore.

Miranda had been too much of an airhead, always in the clouds. She'd run off with a stranger and completely vanished after high school. For years, every corpse found along the highway was rumored to be her.

He wonders dryly if she's somewhere in the Infinite Realms.

Not like he'd be able find her even if she is.

_We would have met at my favorite café and started talking about books. It would have been a fascinating conversation, at the end of which I'd ask for her number…you know, so we could talk again. I could consult her on my writing. There would be more dates, more intellectual debates – perhaps even flat-out arguments. She'd be a bit of a revolutionary. A woman who wouldn't let tradition tell her how much she could learn. She'd give others no choice but to recognize her intelligence. At the same time, she would be gentle; a solid, guiding influence. Grounded._

He doesn't notice the people around him cheering the kiss on, his mind grinding to a halt instead.

_She'd be intelligent, kind, grounded, and no-nonsense while retaining a sense of humor,_ he glances up at the front, where Jazz gently dabs at tears.

_Oh, Eternal Realms,_ he moans, _I might be in love with Jasmine Fenton._

_A _human_._

_A _living _human._

The bride and groom rush outside for a few pictures before driving to the reception venue. He stands, planning to disappear with the crowd, but he feels a hand take his arm.

"You came," Jazz smiles teasingly, "decide to join us at the last minute?"

If he had a functioning heart anymore, it'd be pounding. The realization has made him hyper-aware of her now. The way she smells like her namesake, the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes, the way her lips curl from her perfectly white teeth–

–He's ruined. Absolutely. This is _not_ good.

"I suppose," he smiles back calmly, stilling his quivering core, "I apologize for my clothes. They're hardly…wedding-worthy."

"It's fine," she smiles, "It's nice to see something a little more normal…and you put _some_ effort into it. Don't worry about it."

_There is nothing different than usual. The fact that you _may_ like her means nothing, for nothing is all it can amount to, _"Don't you have photos to take?"

"And document my shame forever? Yeah," she grimaces playfully.

"It's not _that_ bad," he assures.

"Oh?" she arches an eyebrow.

"The shape is flattering, before you reach the skirt, and it shows off your legs," he answers quickly, escorting her a step closer to the outside with every word; he leaves her with the wedding party and waits further down the church steps before she can reply.

He can feel her watching him between photos.

_Did I say too much?_

-BREAK-

"I left an empty seat beside Jazz, just in case," Lisa smiles, "I'm glad you could make it, Ghost Writer."

"Thank you. Congratulations, once again," he smiles.

"Thank you," she smiles, looking up at her husband, "Honey, this is an acquaintance of Jazz's," she raises herself on her toes to whisper into his ear, "He's a _ghost_."

His eyes flick back to the purple-coated man in shock, "You can't be–"

"Honey, Jazz is from Amity Park, remember?"

"Oh," he breathes, "She's one of _those_ Fentons."

"Yeah," Jazz laughs, "That's me."

"Ghost Writer, this is my husband, Dalton Harlock."

"Congratulations," he smiles, locking hands with the groom, "Lisa invited me when I was dropping something off to Jazz. I'm sorry I don't have a gift…"

"It's fine," Lisa grins, "Now Jazz has someone else to talk to. It'd be unfair to saddle her with all of my extended family. I have to say, though, I didn't know ghosts could look like normal people. If I hadn't met you already, I wouldn't think that you're one of them."

"Not all ghosts can do it," he shrugs, "The only other ghosts I know are Johnny Thirteen and Amorpho. Some of the powerhouses could probably pull it off too, if they cared to."

"Powerhouses?" she leans forward, "Like…Phantom?"

He smirks, "I don't know…Jazz?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she lies, "I'm not sure if he'd ever feel the need to bother with something like that."

"It's not an energy-free trick," he finishes, "but I can keep it up longer than most."

"I don't know," Jazz hums, "Johnny Thirteen kept it up for a while…granted, I was being brainwashed by Kitty's clothes, but…"

"That was probably the primary factor," he smirks, "Between that and the adrenaline of nearly getting crushed by a roller coaster, anyway."

"How did you know about that?" she hisses, her cheeks coloring.

"How could I _not_," he grimaces, "Kitty's shrieking can be heard and felt through the Infinite Realms. She tends to bring up past faults when she gets on a roll."

Jazz groans.

"Which is often."

She massages at her temples, "Well, isn't that lovely. My brief stint on the wild side is regularly broadcasted through the Infinite Realms."

"It's the nature of the place," he shrugs, "we have a thing for the unending."

"Hey, Jazz!" Marci sashays up, "Is this…?" she stops, scanning him head-to-toe, "He doesn't look like a dark elf…"

He smirks, "Is this better?" he releases his hot core slowly, allowing the change to be gradual. His ears elongate, and his skin pales back to gray.

She smiles, "Okay, yeah, you're right."

"I told you so," Lisa hisses.

"So you're Ghost Writer?" she extends a hand, "I'm Marci."

"Ah, yes, the one who looks good in everything," he replies dryly, "So I've been told."

"It's true," she nods, looking around, "Hey, Lisa, where's your sister? She was pretty excited about possibly meeting a ghost today."

"She was excited about _telling her friends_, more than anything," she sighs.

Other guests are beginning to stare, muttering quietly to each other.

"I was originally planning on avoiding a scene," he mutters quietly, "my impulsiveness got the better of me. Maybe I should slip away?"

"Don't you dare," Jazz frowns, "You've decided to come – stick to it."

He winces, "Alright…but if this ends up in a newspaper and your brother finds out…"

"I'll tell him it's none of his business."

"Because that worked _so well_ last time."

**A/N: So yes, I'm ending that there. Get over it. There are a few things that'll become relevant later on in CoF, actually. Kind of.**

**I have a theory that Johnny Thirteen's ghost is actually more accurately his Shadow. I don't think he can use his ghost powers without it…then again, he shows up in more than one episode, and sometimes the series could be a little inconsistent. I'm declaring it canon in the JOS 'verse. Need to get rid of ghostly aura? Ditch the shadow.**

**I've always enjoyed trying to describe how people feel around Danny. I imagine that there's just something they find…off. That there's something they can sense. It's part of why Danielle's in the popular-yet-unpopular zone in CoF. I finally found a good segue to that discussion, even if it was with Jazz's first roommate (and the other bridesmaids) rather than kids at Casper High.**


End file.
